


The Magnificent Eight

by kaiz



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Action/Adventure, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-01-05
Updated: 1999-01-05
Packaged: 2017-10-09 18:09:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 36,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/90127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaiz/pseuds/kaiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blair wins a trip to New Mexico and drags along the Major Crimes gang.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Magnificent Eight

**IotaTech Headquarters  
Lazy K Ranch, Suite #107  
San Ysidro, New Mexico  
Monday, May 11  
**

With midnight 10 minutes away, IotaTech Founder and CEO Benjamin Mitchell stared bleakly at the May financials. Maybe he'd miscalculated, screwed up the Excel macros or something. Maybe he'd just happened to misplace $147,934 and somehow, the money would miraculously appear so he could meet payroll next month.

Three hours, two cups of espresso, half a pizza and a roll of Tums later, the 32 year old MBA, named one of 'Internet Age' magazine's hot, up-and-coming 'Infopenuers' was still nearly 150 grand in the hole.

"Shit."

*

**Cascade PD, Major Crime  
Cascade, Washington  
Wednesday, May 13  
**

During the post-lunch lull, Simon perused his inter-office memos. The latest announced a station-wide raffle benefiting the Cascade Battered Women's Shelter. Leaning back in his chair, he listened to the quiet hum of activity from the bullpen, enjoying the rare peace before the next crisis. Through the blinds he could see Ellison, Sandburg and Connor discussing a case.

Sandburg worried him: the kid still wasn't a hundred percent. Too pale, shadows under his eyes, coughing, limping and much quieter than usual. Down right subdued. Wasn't natural, he thought, shaking his head.

He remembered first meeting Blair Sandburg. Long haired, hyperactive, definitely *not* 'Cop'. Remembered being skeptical that he could help Ellison master hyperacute senses that seemed to Simon a curse as much as a blessing. Amazed, he'd watched the kid transform Ellison, a talented detective, to one of phenomenal, oftimes frightening skill. And from an aloof loner to an occasionally congenial, often smiling friend.

Simultaneously, Sandburg had become a welcome addition to the department, and a valued friend. Cop or not, he was a perceptive student of human nature, brilliant in dealing with victims and suspects alike, with the skills of a natural profiler. Together, Sandburg and Ellison formed an unorthodox yet effective partnership. One that had raised numerous eyebrows over the years, but had garnered him more than a few kudos from his superiors as well.

Thinking back, Simon had wanted to throttle Ellison that crazed night Ellison had read Sandburg's dissertation. Not only had the whole business been unprofessional but it'd nearly destroyed their partnership and torn two of his closest friends apart.

Simon winced and rubbed his eyes as the horrific events following that night flashed past. Deadly nerve toxin stolen. Sandburg drowned. Ellison a complete wreck. Weeks later, Alex Barnes' bleeding, blank-eyed corpse in the sweltering jungle heat. Thankfully, Blair and Jim had patched their differences.

But there was something very different about them both since that cold April day. They'd always been close. Unshakable -- or mostly unshakable -- friends. Always been aware of one another to an uncanny degree. Sandburg right there with that eerie *voice* while Jim was ferreting out something at a crime scene. Ellison responding instinctively to his partner's confident direction. But this seemed different, or perhaps it was a matter of degree. They were like dancers who had been practicing unfamiliar choreography. Graceful, though slightly out of sync at first, but now nearly flawless on the eve of opening night.

Suddenly, Blair and Jim turned towards his office in unison and smiled, as if feeling his attention. Perhaps they did. Who knew what a Sentinel and a Shaman could perceive?

With a sigh, Simon rose and went to the door. He'd procrastinated long enough. Time to inform his detectives that they were going to become salesmen in the next few weeks.

"All right everybody, listen up..."

*

**Plaza Diego Towers Hotel, Suite #823  
Albuquerque, New Mexico  
Two weeks later  
**

"Are you sure this is going to work?" The tow-headed IotaTech CEO paced the hallway, running nervous fingers through his hair.

Timothy Redford Barrows, his skinny, nerdy companion -- the living embodiment of 'pencil-necked geekdom' -- scoffed, "Of course I'm sure, Ben. Utterly untraceable and very nearly trivial. No problem at all. These people are pros. Trust your SysAdmin and best buddy Red, willya?"

"I don't know, Red," Ben said nervously. "This still doesn't feel right." Red was a truly amazing hacker, but was seriously lacking in the morals department.

Red tucked in his faded blue T-shirt emblazoned with some arcane computer language mumbo jumbo and the words, "This T-Shirt is a Munition". "I'll admit, it skirts the edge, man, but hell, I figure Bill Gates owes me big time for having to put up with the rotting, stinking piece of fecal matter that is Windows-NT."

"Skirts the *edge*? Red, this is patently illegal. We could go to jail here!" Ben whispered fiercely.

"Not if we don't get caught. Besides, how else were you thinking of coming up with that cash, man, huh? Minting some?" Hands on his narrow hips, Red scowled. "It's not like we're selling secrets to the commies or something."

"Red, it's the nineties. The Cold War is over."

"I know that, ya moron, it's just a figure of speech." Red shook his head with annoyance. "Now shut up, calm down and let me do the talking with these guys, okay?"

Ben put his head in his hands and moaned, "Oh god, what have I gotten myself into? Rob and Leslie are gonna kill me."

"Ben, I've got everything covered here. Don't worry about Rob the Amazon. She won't find out and neither will Les. Trust me, okay?"

Ben straightened with a sigh. At this point, it was all or nothing. Time to put up or shut up. "Okay, man. I'm trusting that you know what you're doing here."

"Well, then let's go make some cash," Red smiled and rapped on the door.

*

** Cascade Police Department  
Major Crime  
Thursday, July 9  
**

As the 7:00 pm shift-change approached, the bullpen was abuzz with activity and conversation. Another long day keeping the citizens of Cascade safe from crooks and sleazebags and the troops were ready to head home.

"Hey Jim! You wanna go to happy hour tonight?" Brown called from his casual slouch in the doorway.

Jim looked up from what seemed to be the thousandth incident report he'd typed that week. Did these things *breed* when he wasn't looking?

"Where are you guys headed?" he asked, more from habit than any real desire to join them.

"They're going to *Izzy's*," Megan broke in disgustedly, looking up from her computer.

"Whatsa matter with Izzy's, Connor?" Henry snickered, "Entertainment not to your taste?"

"Nothing's wrong with Izzy's, Brown," she shot back, "Nothing that is, if you fancy sticky floors, bad food, worse music, watered down drinks and jail bait."

"Beer, babes and dancing! That's the definition of a good time!"

"Babes," Megan rolled her eyes, "Babies is more like it."

"Hey!" Rafe protested, ducking under Brown's arm and heading to his desk, "Izzy's has only been busted twice for underage drinking."

"Yeah, Rafe, twice this month," Jim chuckled.

Megan shook her head in disbelief, "I can't believe you're going, Rafe. Brown here, well I expected that. 'Mr. Smooth-talker ladies man' and all that. You, though, I thought you had more class."

"I resent that," Brown said indignantly, hands on hips, "Anyway, we're not asking you, Connor. You already turned your nose up at the idea. Too 'low-brow' for you or something."

"Or something," Connor sniffed, winked at Jim and turned back to her report.

//Ah,//Jim smiled to himself, //Izzy's.// A T and A bar in one of Cascade's seedier neighborhoods. Regularly frequented by horny off-duty cops and almost as regularly raided by Vice for underage dancers and liquor license violations. Not exactly wholesome family entertainment.

For a moment, Jim considered the options. Go out with the guys, spend a couple hours oggling scantily-clad, jiggling women in a crowded, noisy bar and try half-heartedly to get a couple of phone numbers. Or, enjoy the evening at home with Blair, basking in his Guide's bright laughter, over steaming lasagna and mellow red wine.

In short, the choice was between a stale Snickers bar or a thick, juicy steak. Steak won out, hands down.

"Sorry guys, I've gotta head home. I forgot, it's my turn to make dinner tonight."

"Good for you, Jim," Connor smiled approvingly, "It's nice that at least one man around here has some taste and good sense and doesn't think with his hormones."

Brown and Rafe, however, were aghast. "Dinner?" they chorused incredulously.

"You have to cook *dinner* tonight?" Brown choked, "You'd rather scrape together some pathetic excuse for a hamburger-helper casserole than partake of Cascade's wildlife? What's up with you these days, Ellison?"

"Like Connor said, H, I've got good taste," Jim retorted, "And besides, my lasagna is *not* pathetic."

"I dunno Jim," Rafe chimed in, "For the last few months it's been 'Gotta get home', 'Gotta make dinner.' What's next? 'Gotta clean the oven?' You're turning into a regular Mr. Domesticity."

"Funny, Rafe. Really. Watch me laugh. Ha. Ha." Rafe did have a point, though. He'd been spending a lot of time at home lately -- or, more accurately, spending a lot of time at home with Blair.

Brown wouldn't let it rest. "Seriously, man. When's the last time you been on a date?"

"None of your business, H." Jim mentally shrugged. Could he help it if Blair's company was more enjoyable than trying to be on his best behavior for some woman who'd end up wanting to remake him anyway? He could never be expressive enough, romantic enough. //*Sexual* enough// Jim admitted with an inward wince. Friendship and masturbation was the way to go.

"What about you, Joel? You wanna come to Izzy's with us tonight?" Brown asked Joel Taggart as he passed through the bullpen on his way to Simon's office.

"You've got to be kidding me, H. I haven't been in that place since-- well since I was single."

"Well, man, you're single again -- a free agent. Time to dust off the old dancing shoes and hit the floor." Brian tapped his toes against the side of the desk for emphasis.

"Almost single, Rafe. The papers haven't been finalized yet. Besides, I'm *years* out of practice with the bar scene."

"Practice makes perfect, Joel."

"I dunno, Rafe," Henry chimed in, grinning wickedly at Jim, "Practice sure hasn't seemed to help Ellison any. He can never get past the second date."

"What *is* it with you guys and my dates?" Jim demanded indignantly, "I had no idea that my social life was such a source of fascination to you all."

"Actually Jim, it's your *lack* of a social life that we find fascinating."

"People in glass houses, H." Jim groused, "I don't see *you* getting all that many call-backs from your 'babe-scouting expeditions' as Sandburg calls them."

"Zing!" Megan crowed, "He's got you there, Henry! For all your suave, debonair ways, you seem to always be scrambling for a date on Friday night."

Shaking his head, Jim turned back to his report, trying to tune out his colleagues' banter. Without Blair nearby to ground him it was difficult to keep his senses focussed. Was it *that* obvious that he hadn't been dating? And that, when he did, it was half-hearted at best? In the last few months, honestly, all he really wanted to do was spend time with his partner, especially after Alex Barnes had nearly killed him. He'd never felt such intense satisfaction from using 'lethal force' than he had that night. The law abiding detective was faintly ashamed but the primal Sentinel wanted to rewind and do it again.

"Hey! I do *not* scramble," Brown protested.

"Henry," Megan said patiently, "The only person around here who never lacks for dates on Friday night is Sandy."

"Yeah, what *is* it about Hairboy, huh?"

"The eyes? The earrings?"

"*I* got earrings."

"Come on Megan, you're a woman, clue us in here about Sandburg's appeal."

"Forget it guys," Megan laughed and shook her head. "If you have to ask then you just won't get it."

"So you admit he has appeal?"

Jim laughed silently at their speculations. Megan was right, they wouldn't get it. After several years of careful observation, Jim had uncovered his partner's secret -- the source of his undeniable charm and success with women. The truth was blinding in its simplicity: Blair was sincerely *nice* to any and all women. Sure, he could be a bit of a dog when it came to actually juggling his many girlfriends and scoping out prospective dates. But one fact remained: when Blair Sandburg focussed his attention on you, you were *it*, to the exlusion of all others. No woman -- or man, Jim conceded privately -- was immune to the intensity of his partner's exclusive regard.

"I know, it's the student thing. The grunge look."

"Must be the hair. Maybe I should grow my hair out like Sandburg," Rafe supposed, "Get a pony tail. Maybe I'd get more action."

"You're fine just as you are, Rafe, dear." Megan smiled sweetly at him.

"If I'm fine as I am, how come you never wanna go out with me, huh?"

"Perhaps it's your piss-poor taste in night clubs, Rafe," Jim commented wryly.

"Hey!" Rafe protested plaintively.

Ten minutes later, their banter was cut short as Joel all but scurried out of Simon's office, impressive for a man his size. Simon followed, scowling furiously.

"Okay everybody, listen up! All raffle booklets are due back tomorrow afternoon by 5:00pm."

The assembled detectives released a collective groan.

"Come on people, upgrading the facilities at the Cascade Battered Women's Shelter is a good cause. Don't you want to beat out Vice and Traffic? Win that nice trip for eight to New Mexico?"

"C'mon Captain. We're cops, not door-to-door salesmen!" Brown protested. Not a few heads nodded in agreement.

"I don't want to hear it people! The drawing will take place at the Awards dinner, Saturday, July 25th. Turn in those damn booklets." Simon stalked back into his office and slammed the door.

"Joel, what'd you say to Simon that's got him so pissed off?"

"Me? I said nothing, man! All I did was drop off the new budget for the Bomb Squad."

"Nothing?! You call that nothing? Especially after Nitro got chomped by that overgrown lizard! No wonder he's pissed!"

"Simon's always pissed about something these days, anyway, H. Joan, Daryl, the Chief, you name it. Everything seems to set him off." Rafe shrugged, "I think *someone* needs a vacation!"

Brown chuckled, "Or a nap."

"Well, if our illustrious 'croc-spotter' had lived up to her reputation, Nitro -- may he rest in peace -- would still be with us. And *not* taking a bite out of Simon's latest budget." Taggart chuckled.

"I said my brother and I used to go 'croc *spotting*'!" Megan protested, "I never said we *caught* any!"

"Yeah, yeah, Connor. Try to weasel your way out of it..."

"Speaking of the raffle," Megan changed the subject abruptly, pointedly ignoring Brown, Taggart and Rafe, "how are you faring with selling the tickets, Jim?" Miffed at being snubbed, the trio headed to the break room to rinse their coffee cups and piss away the rest of the shift.

Jim groaned and rubbed his eyes. Those damn raffle tickets. "I've sold a grand total of five. I know it's for a good cause and all, but I'm not and never will be a salesman."

"Know what you mean," Megan smiled, "I haven't done so well myself. I've only got you beat by two. What about Sandy?"

"Oh god. Sandburg is downright scary. He's sold a million of the things. There's a shopping bag full of raffle stubs in his room and people calling at all hours wanting to buy them."

Megan chuckled, "Good thing he's a force for good in the universe, eh? Otherwise we'd be up to our eyebrows in food dehydrators and 'never-need-sharpening' knives."

Jim laughed, "Yeah, he's really gone all out for this raffle. He really wants to win that trip."

"I happen to think he deserves a vacation, after everything that happened. Heck, you *both* deserve a vacation."

"Yeah," Jim agreed softly.

"How is he doing, Jim? Really? I haven't seen him around much lately." As nosy as she could be, Megan really did care a lot about Sandburg.

"He's had a lot of work at school with working on his dissertation and all." He sighed, "Physically, he's okay, I guess."

"No permanent damage from the neurotoxin and the pneumonia?"

"Fortunately, no. He's a little weak and has some trouble with stairs, but physical therapy should eventually take care of that. He still has nightmares though." So do I, for that matter, he added silently.

"And what about you, Jim?" she asked softly.

"I'm okay. The arm is fine of course," Jim misdirected, hoping she'd drop it. He'd rather not attempt to explain the unfathomable morass of his feelings to anyone else.

Catching the hint, Megan gathered her papers together and shoved them in her briefcase. "Well, I'm calling it a night. I'll just hand these over to Simon and head home. Tell Sandy I said 'Hi', Jim."

"Will do."

"You'd better slip them under the door, Connor," Brown suggested wryly, heading for the elevator with Rafe, "it'll be a lot safer that way. Less likely to lose any body parts."

"First good idea you've had all day, Brown!"

"Night Jim, Megan," Rafe called. "If you guys change your minds, you know where we'll be."

Megan snorted her opinion and Jim smiled. Unbidden, his hearing reached out to track Brown and Rafe's quiet conversation as they walked to the elevator.

"What do you think, H? Maybe I shouldn't go tonight. Megan sounded kinda pissed off."

He smiled again. Rafe had been trying, without any visible success, to ask Connor out since she'd arrived. He couldn't figure out exactly why she was playing hard to get. Given their vital signs, the attraction was mutual.

"Rafe, you are *so* whipped, my friend. She hasn't even agreed to a *date* with you for godsake, and you're going, 'What would Megan think?' Jeez, man, grow a spine!"

"I don't want to ruin my chances here, H. I really like her."

"I know you do man. Don't worry man, she likes you," Henry said smugly. "I can tell."

Rafe sounded a bit mollified. "Yeah, well, maybe. Now, what I want to know is what's with Jim these days?"

"Oh yeah man, ever since Lila died, he's been like this. Heading home right after work. Only hanging out with Hairboy."

"Yeah. And then Sandburg came back from the dead..."

"Oh man, was *that* weird or what? Three hours lying on a slab in the morgue and the kid just wakes up."

"*That* was fucking bizarre. Weird was Ellison stalking the hallways going, 'He's not dead! He's not dead!' like some ghost outta Hamlet. Thought he'd seriously slipped around the bend at that point..."

"No shit, man. Nerve toxin--who'd have guessed? Mimicking death and all that."

"I figured Hairboy would be a vegetable after being dead for 3 hours, but hell, the kid is sharper than before. Skinnier, hair's longer. But the kid is sharper. No question about it."

"They say dying changes you, man," Brown intoned sagely. Jim clenched his pencil so tightly it snapped: Henry had no idea.

"Yeah, well, life is never boring with Ellison and Sandburg around is it?"

"You got that right, man."

Jim shuddered as the elevator doors closed upon their conversation. He closed stinging eyes tightly upon the awful image of his Guide lying dead, pale skin, blue-tinged lips. Chaotic indigo grief sealed his throat, clutched his heart. He reexperiencing the visceral rootlessness and existential horror of being alone, anchorless without his Guide. He sighed and shrugged off the heavy mood with difficulty. His partner was alive and whole, warm and breathing; he'd survived.

One more report and he could go home. To Blair. Jim smiled and typed faster.

*

** 852 Prospect, #307  
Cascade, Washington  
Later that night  
**

His backpack grew heavier with each step. After weeks of physical therapy, stairs were still a bitch but dammit, he refused to cave and use the elevator. In the last few months, he'd finished the initial draft of his dissertation, endured endless meetings with his advisory committee, consulted on several of Major Crime's cases and spent every waking moment left over selling raffle tickets. By god, he was going to win that trip. It was the only way he could afford a well-deserved vacation after the financial, emotional and physical hell of the past six months.

Blair paused on the top step and leaned against the wall, gasping. Oh yeah, there was that small matter of pneumonia. And let's not mention having recently died, too. Almost died. Whatever. He stretched to ease his aching back and pulled up short with the pinch of still healing ribs, courtesy of Simon's enthusiastic CPR technique.

All he wanted was to grab a shower, crawl into bed and sleep for a week. Or better yet, sleep and spend a week baking in the high deserts of New Mexico.

His mouth watered as he entered the apartment, the wonderful aroma of Jim's lasagna teasing his nose. The stereo was softly playing -- his tribal drums CD? What was his guilt-ridden, overly solicitous Sentinel up to now?

"Hey, Chief!" Jim met him at the door, immediately taking his jacket and backpack. "Tough day?"

"Hi Jim," Blair sighed -- Jim was at it again. "Yeah, you could say that."

"Well, go take a shower and grab a glass of wine. Or would you like some tea? Dinner is almost ready." Depositing Blair's pack on his bed, Jim hurried back into the kitchen, rattling pots and pans and setting the kettle to boil.

"Thanks man. It smells great." Blair shook his head in disbelief. It was like living in the Twilight Zone. Or with a Stepford Sentinel. Ever since his 'resurrection'// If I have to listen to *one* more 'Lazarus' joke ...//, Jim had been acting, well, peculiar. In the morgue, Jim had swept him into a fierce embrace and refused to let go. Not that he'd minded at the time, since he was stark naked in an ice-cold room freezing his nuts off and Jim was, at the very least, *warm*. The stunned doctors had had to pry Ellison away. Literally. With a hypodermic needle and a sedative. His partner had capped *that* stellar performance with thirteen consecutive all-nighters bedside in the hospital, constantly underfoot, driving the doctors insane, refusing to let Blair out of his sight. He'd finally drawn the line after Jim had followed him into the bathroom. Neurotoxin be damned, he could still pee on his own, thank you very much. Not for the first time, Blair wished Incacha had dropped off a 'Your Sentinel Owner's Manual' the day Incacha had bequeathed him the Way of the Shaman and an infuriatingly cryptic phantom wolf.

After a quick shower and a change of clothes, Blair felt marginally more human when he returned to the candlelit living room. The table was set, complete with a bowl of salad, basket of focaccia and an expensive bottle of red wine. A soft breeze blew through the open balcony windows.

"Come sit down and eat, Chief."

"Who are you and what have you done with Jim Ellison?" Blair asked his companion, only somewhat joking. 'Twilight Zone' didn't begin to cover it.

"Very funny. What? I can't do something nice for you for a change?"

"Hey man, I'm not complaining here. Just surprised."

"I don't ever want you to think that I take you for granted, Blair." Jim said, placing a veritable slab of lasagna on his plate. "Eat up. You're too thin."

Shaking his head, Blair sat down and started in on Jim's ever-fantastic lasagna and the mellow red wine. They shared news of the day, talked about Blair's progress on his dissertation, Jim's latest cases and the raffle. The entire evening echoed the excellent Merlot -- warm, smooth and slightly spicy, lingering pleasantly on the tongue.

Blair glanced at his own plate and then Jim's, startled to see it mostly full, whereas his own had been emptied. Twice.

"Jim, you're not eating."

"What? Oh, sorry, Blair. I was just listening to what you were saying." Jim had been literally hanging on his words. And, painful as it was to admit, a discussion on cross-cultural divination practices was likely of little or no interest to his Sentinel.

Blair smiled at his friend and began gathering his dirty dishes, "You don't have to pretend to be interested, you know. I don't mind."

Jim smiled a little sadly. "Blair, I'm always interested in what you have to say. If I'd listened more carefully before, maybe..."

"Jim, stop it. It's in the past, " Blair gently touched his friend's hand. "We're beyond that now, okay?"

"It may be in the past, but I'll never forget what my failure to listen, to trust, almost cost you. Us."

Unsure what to say next, Blair nodded silently. Jim squeezed his hand and rose to take his plate to sink. It had been happening a lot lately. This strange, unfamiliar dance of deepening intimacy. Where once, there would have been an awkward pause after such an admission, now, there was renewed closeness and a quiet current of understanding. They finished clearing the table and washing the dishes and spent the rest of the evening in a warm, companionable silence.

"Blair?"

Blair turned as Jim stopped him on his way to bed. His friend's eyes were dark and his hand lingered on Blair's shoulder. For a stunned instant, he thought Jim was going to kiss him. His lips tingled with anticipation. Insanity.

"Good night. And pleasant dreams."

"You too, Jim."

Slipping between the cool sheets, Blair puzzled over the naggingly familiar pattern of Jim's behavior, and his own. He and Jim had always been close, and despite the disastrous rift initiated by Alex, seemed to be growing closer still. A bone always knitted back stronger after it had been broken. Was that what was happening? Their relationship had been nearly torn asunder the night he'd come home to find his entire life in boxes, his best friend sullen and distant, a dangerous stranger. Although technically spring, that night had seemed mid-winter in its chill and he shivered, remembering. The frayed threads had nearly snapped completely, irrevocably in the icy fountain outside Hargrove Hall.

The evening Jim brought him home from the hospital, he'd stood in his room, amazed -- every book, mask, statue and knick-knack had been returned to its original place, bearing witness to his Sentinel's incredible powers of observation, meriting Jim no few subsequent tests for eidetic memory, too. Since that night, their friendship's threads had been rewoven, strengthened and sometimes, felt almost solid and warm to the touch.

Settling in to sleep, he listened to Jim's comforting ritual as his friend walked the perimeter, secured their home and climbed the stairs to bed. As sleep claimed him, his over-active conscious mind relaxed and the perplexing pattern gently resolved itself into a single clear thought. Delight, peace and knowledge rushed through him, deep and wide as the Amazon, rich and fertile as the verdant Peruvian jungle. This is love.

*

** IotaTech Headquarters  
Lazy K Ranch, Suite #107  
San Ysidro, New Mexico  
Friday morning, 10 July  
**

Ben leaned against the window sill in the office suite watching his colleagues spar with one another. As usual, Red and Rob were going after each other, this time about data storage strategies. Both did excellent work and were more or less friends, but still fought like cats and dogs over anything and everything, minor or major, technical or not. He let them argue for a while, sharing an amused glance with Leslie, then brought the meeting back to order.

"Okay people, enough personal crap. I want to hear status."

Director of Research Robin McAndrews glared once more at Red, then passed out photocopies of her latest schedule. "So. Here's our current delivery timeline. As you can see, we're well within schedule and have met all relevant milestones for the past two months." The tall red-head paused for a moment, clearly pleased about the team's progress. "I've got vacations coming up for two of the engineers -- Shawn and Mark, but that won't impact things at all."

"When will we be begin testing and validation?"

"Late July, early August. With a scheduled release date of October 31. We'll burn the CDs on November 1st. We should make it, no problem. Also, I've got the patent work on the encryption algorithm drawn up and will be going over things with the lawyer on Monday. The patent will be filed mid next month."

Ben was pleased. They were actually *ahead* of schedule, a situation virtually unheard of for a software project. "Excellent work. What about you, Leslie?" He turned to Leslie Randolph. His CFO and marketing manager was a quiet, genteel southern gentleman, but a ruthless negotiator and shrewd product positioning tactician.

"My preliminary reports indicate an initial market size of approximately $58 million. More conclusive numbers, with market segmentation figures, will be available by the end of next week." Leslie smiled and passed around his latest report. "All in all, I have every confidence that this product is going to hit and hit big. There is literally no other firm, national or international poised to take such complete advantage of it. Oh, and our graphic design firm will have product and marketing literature samples available in three weeks."

"Red? What about ops? Where are we?"

"We're cranking, man! Nightly backups have gone off without a hitch for the past 6 weeks. Lost a couple of disks in the past week, one motherboard and one Ethernet card, but all were still under warranty and there was only minimal data loss." Red consulted his crumpled list, "The security systems are fully operational and the order for the T-1 line was placed last week. It should be installed sometime around the first week in August. I'll have the routing tables configured soon afterwards."

Ben glanced at Rob, surprised she'd held her tongue. It was no secret that she was opposed to leasing the T-1 line. He'd had to talk fast to come up with a good justification for what was essentially payment to Red for patching the hemorrhage in his budget. The words 'consulting fees' covered a multitude of fiscal sins.

"What about production?"

Rob shook her head. "Les and I still need to finalize the agreement with the replication facility. We're not yet in full agreement with the vendor about materiel cost and final ship date. We've got plenty of time for that, though."

"Okay people. I'm really pleased. I've begun negotiations with two big players for embedded data encryption support and it's looking like a third may fall in line by the end of next week. We're gonna do it, guys!" Ben was enthusiastic. Now, if his secret little scheme was never discovered, they'd all be fabulously wealthy.

"I'm not one for counting the proverbial chickens before they hatch, but yeah, I think so too, Ben," Rob agreed. Red nodded assent.

Red and Rob actually in agreement, for once? Would wonders never cease?

*

** Cascade PD, Major Crime  
Later that afternoon  
**

Late Friday afternoon, Blair Sandburg strolled into the station looking inordinately pleased with himself. Jim monitored his partner carefully. Although he was far too thin and pale and still walked with a slight limp, Sandburg seemed relaxed and in good spirits.

"Hairboy! How goes it?"

"H-man, long time no see!"

Jim rose from his desk, smiling warmly at his friend, "Hey Chief, got all your raffle tickets?"

"Yep, right here in this bag," Blair hefted a huge shopping bag.

"Jesus Blair! What'd you do? Rob a bank?" Simon Banks stepped out of his office and gasped at the evidence of Blair's ticket-selling prowess. The rest of the Major Crimes crew followed on his heels gawking shamelessly.

"Here ya go, Simon." Blair handed over the bag, "All eight hundred thirty seven."

That statement drew a collective gasp from everyone within earshot.

"You sold *how* many, Sandburg?" Simon boggled.

"Eight hundred and thirty seven," Blair offered with a smug smile.

"Eight hundred thirty seven? At ten bucks each? Jesus, Sandburg, I hope you're not carrying around that much cash."

"I'm not crazy, H. These are the raffle booklets. I deposited the cash in the bank and wrote a check."

"Exactly how the hell did you manage to sell that many raffle tickets, Sandburg?" Simon wanted to know. "Rhonda's the only one who managed to get rid of more than ten."

"Guess it's just my natural charm," Blair replied with a cocky grin.

"Natural charm, my ass," Simon grumped, "How many of them were women, huh? Just a rough estimate, Sandburg. 80 percent? 90 percent?"

"Yeah, Sandy, and how many phone numbers did you collect?"

"Hey! I resent that!" Blair said indignantly, "And not many."

Rafe snickered, "Right. You bat those baby blues and women fall all over you. Ellison here can't get a second date to save his life."

"Gimmie a break guys!" Jim protested. They just wouldn't let up about his goddamn dates, or lack thereof.

"I would have sold more if I'd had time to hit up the Chemistry department and the Business School."

"Just how many departments *did* you hit, Hairboy?"

"Let's see," Blair ticked them off on his fingers, "the Anthro department obviously, Linguistics, Computer Science, Biology, Sociology, Psychology, Engineering, the Law School, the Classics Department, the Registrar's Office, and a bunch of other departments. Oh, and I hit up the Fair Oaks Country Club, too."

"Fair Oaks? Who the hell do you know at a country club, Sandburg?"

"Well. Um." Blair actually looked a bit sheepish and to Sentinel ears, his heart seemed about to pound its way out of his chest, "I sorta talked to Jim's dad."

"My *father*?!" Jim was flabbergasted, "You convinced my *father* to buy raffle tickets?"

"Hey, Jim, you didn't wanna talk to him, so I did. I just poured on a little of the old Sandburg charm and 'voila' the rest is history! The wealthy can be *very* philanthropic." His Guide grinned impishly. And a bit desperately too, if Jim read his expression correctly. Hoping to avoid getting brained by a pissed Sentinel, no doubt.

"Sandburg?!" Jim didn't know whether to be pissed, amazed or impressed. He'd known that Sandburg and his father had kept in contact but hadn't realized the extent of the relationship. After a moment, his roiling emotions settled upon amazement tinged with no little affection. Connor was right, his Guide was one frighteningly resourceful and competent salesman. God help the American public if Sandburg ever decided to sell used cars.

"Blair Sandburg, you have *no* shame!" Simon declared, shaking his head.

"No respect! I get no respect!" Blair raised his eyes skyward. "This is the thanks I get for putting Major Crimes in the best position to win that trip!"

"What *is* it with you and this trip, Sandburg? You've been keyed up about it since they announced it."

"It's gonna be *fun*, Simon. Fishing, hiking, camping, horseback riding. You know--fun! You remember *fun* don't you? They had fun *way* back in the 70s didn't they?"

Connor, Rafe and Brown were holding their sides, shaking helplessly with laughter.

"Keep it up, Sandburg," Simon growled, "and I'll see to it that you're at every single autopsy from now 'til the end of the year."

"Ouch! That hurts, Simon," Blair clutched at his chest dramatically. "I thought we were friends."

Unable to help himself, Jim snickered.

"And you, Ellison, you watch your step, too." Simon glowered.

"Uh, right, sir." Jim winked at his partner, covering his smile with one hand. To hell with the raffle; he'd already won the lottery with Blair Sandburg. And he suspected that within a few weeks, he'd be on a plane to New Mexico to spend five glorious days with his perfectly amazing Guide. What a delicious thought.

*

** Lazy K Ranch  
San Ysidro, New Mexico  
The Stables  
Midnight  
**

Leaf-sifted moonlight cast eerie shadows on the dusty path as Ben made his way to the stables for his midnight meeting with Red. Like Red, he lived here on the Ranch. Some of the others made the commute in from other towns on a regular basis, daily or biweekly.

Ben was uneasy about this whole bootlegging business. It was unethical, illegal and he still wasn't convinced he hadn't made a pact with the devil. Fundamentally, he was ashamed of himself. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, he'd sold his ethical soul rather than admit that running a business was harder than they taught you in B-School, and ask for help. If she ever found out, his mother would *kill* him.

"Ben, my man!" Red met him at the stables, looking scruffy as usual.

"So Red, how are we looking?" He asked as they walked along the perimeter of the barn, talking quietly.

"We made out with a final total of $383,247. Plenty enough to pay the debts plus interest."

"Yeah? Well the deal broker certainly seemed happy."

"No kidding. The encryption on 'Business Suite' was a bitch to crack, but I pulled it off just fine. With a little hacker magic and a whole lotta elbow grease courtesy of our new hardware," Red said insouciantly, tapping playfully on an imaginary keyboard. "Think about it! We're the first known people on the planet to crack that algorithm." He crowed. "Derek even said Charrington might have other jobs they want us to do..."

"Forget it, Red." Ben shook his head vehemently, "This was a one-time thing. We've got the money, now let's get out. I don't want to risk any more exposure than we have to."

"Ben, don't worry about it. They have *no* idea who we really are. None whatsoever. It'll be okay, I promise."

"I know, I know. But, still, I guess I'm worried."

"You worry about everything, man. Don't stress, everything will be just fine. Look at it this way. We could just as easily turn them over to the Feds for piracy, theft and export violations, now couldn't we?"

"Well, I guess so."

"All we did was crack the code..." Red was hell-bent on diminishing this, but Ben was really concerned: jail and bankruptcy were very real possibilities were they caught.

"...And those guys really seem interested in the decryption algorithm. Not to mention the fact that I made some really nifty improvements on it..."

"Red, we can't sell them *that*. That would be *really* illegal, instead of just mostly illegal."

"We should think about it, man. You're the one who wanted to do this company without venture capital funding. This could be our ticket."

"No. I draw the line here. We will *not* sell the algorithm. Or your 'improvements'."

"Okay, man. You're the boss," Red nodded, appearing chastened. But with Red, you never really knew.

*

** Awards Banquet  
Cascade Towers Hilton  
Cascade, Washington  
Saturday 25 July  
**

To the delight of the trustees of the Cascade Battered Women's Shelter, the city-wide raffle raised over $120,000. Blair's first place award for selling the most tickets came as no surprise to anyone from Major Crime. The next closest competitor had only sold 112 tickets. Upon receiving the award from Chairwoman Marge Willis, Blair's off-hand comment about going into sales if anthropology didn't work out evoked much laughter from the audience. Jim and Megan exchanged wry but knowing looks.

Thirty minutes later, Jim covertly eyed his companion at the buffet table as he rattled off the caloric and fat content of every dish. Blair looked positively radiant in a dark blue silk shirt and black jeans, long sable curls held back neatly with a leather tie. To his secret delight, Blair's left ear glittered with the two new silver earrings Jim had given him earlier in the week. Delicious, seductive innocence. Tonight, Blair had been the focus of attention of anything and everything single and female. With no few males -- who were only marginally more subtle -- thrown in for variety.

"Ah, here's another one, Chief. See the gorgeous red-head at the bar. She's checking you out, buddy." Jim nodded towards a leggy woman with auburn hair and jade green eyes who was openly staring at his partner.

Blair filled his plate and glanced over to the woman, who smiled encouragingly. He shook his head. "Nah, Jim. Not my type."

"That's what you said about the blonde, too. And the brunette and every other woman tonight." Jim laughed outright. "Your type used to be anything in a skirt. Getting choosy in your old age, Chief?"

"Well, Jim," Blair smiled and looked up at him, eyes sparkling, "I'm into tall, buff and handsome these days," he said lightly.

Startled, Jim eyed his friend speculatively; Blair's heartbeat had been rock-steady. "Are you *flirting* with me, Sandburg?"

Surprisingly, rather than deny it, Blair instead blushed to the roots of his hair, bit his lower lip and looked away. "Uh..."

Sudden warmth blossomed in his belly as Jim smiled down at his partner. A vermilion flash and his knowledge of the world and himself burst and reassembled itself in a new, delightful configuration. The underlying theme of the past months' confused protective, affectionate and jealous feelings was suddenly clear, undeniable. This rich, ruby-red feeling, shot through with the electric blue of desire -- this is love. Unexpected perhaps, but not unwelcome.

He gently caught Blair's chin and tilted his friend's head, meeting deep blue eyes, "Because, if you are," he continued softly, "I think I'd like that."

Feeling a blush warm his own cheeks, Jim retreated to the dance floor, leaving a stunned, flushed Sandburg standing at the buffet, hand against his cheek, staring in wonder.

*

Still easily tired, Blair relaxed at the dinner table trying, with out success, to cheer up Joel. He was astonished at his own behavior. He'd actually *blushed* at Jim. Like some adoring teenager with a crush. Pathetic. He'd meant it as a joke. Correction -- he'd meant it to *sound* like a joke. But Jim's nearness, the sound of his voice had twined around his tongue, wrapped around his brain stem and strangled his powers of reason and obsfucation. Sheesh.

Unable to help himself, he stared at his baffling, gorgeous partner, who was dressed to kill in a new charcoal grey suit that accentuated his clear blue eyes. Jim had spent the past hour dancing with a dizzying assortment of women: blondes, red-heads, brunettes. Even the 78 year old silver-haired Chairwoman. More women than Blair had ever seen Jim with in the past three years. Babe-magnet Ellison. What a switch.

At the moment, his Sentinel was tangoing seductively with Megan, giving a credible impression of Antonio Banderas in 'Zorro'. The delighted, cheering crowd had cleared a space in the center of the dance floor for their undeniably erotic display. Jim moved with sleek, economical grace, Megan fiery and lithe within his embrace. They made a striking couple. Who knew Ellison could *move* like that? Or Connor? Certainly not Simon or Rafe, whose matched stunned expressions likely mirrored Blair's own.

"Jim and Megan make a fine couple, eh Blair?"

Courtship display. That's what it was, plain and simple. Projecting hidden sexual desire onto a socially acceptable object of affection via a context appropriate medium -- dance. Their eyes met briefly and Jim's devilish smile and sly wink over Megan's bare shoulder confirmed it: Jim Ellison was flirting with him.

"Huh?"

"I *said*, Jim and Megan make a fine couple."

"They sure do," Blair agreed, staring at his partner across the dance floor.

"I had no idea Jim was such a great dancer."

"Me neither."

What the hell was Jim doing? Was he serious? Did he really mean it? In three years, Jim had only once given any indication that he was not happily hetero. Jim had arrived home early from a failed date wearing a morose expression and Blair had teased him, "What's with you, man? One date and it's all over. Maybe I should give you a few pointers." Jim had shaken his head. "Maybe. Or maybe I should just give up on women and try men for a while". A brief exchange, couched as a wry joke, but in retrospect, Jim's tone had been thoughtful.

"I don't think Rafe looks too thrilled about it, though," Blair chuckled.

Joel smiled. "No, he looks downright pissed. Think he's going make a move?"

"You can count on it, man. Megan is really making him sweat for it."

As the music climaxed, Jim dipped Megan dramatically, to thunderous applause. They posed for a moment at the end of the song, lips nearly touching.

"Check him out! There he goes!"

Rafe waited a bare moment while Jim and Megan bowed and waved to the crowd, then with a glare, swept Megan out of Jim's arms and into the next dance. Megan smiled winsomely, flicked imaginary lint from Rafe's lapel and danced away willingly. Jim simply laughed and took the hand of the elderly matron standing beside him. Pants suddenly too tight, Blair shifted uncomfortably in his seat, more than a little aroused at their display. He wished for nothing more at the moment than to cut in on the old blue-haired bitty coyly batting her eyelashes at Jim. Wouldn't *that* get a few looks?

"So, Joel. How come you're not out there on the dance floor? As I recall, you cut a mean rug."

Joel sighed, "I guess I haven't much felt like dancing lately."

"Oh yeah, the divorce. Sorry man." As much as he wanted to help, Blair definitely felt in over his head with Joel and this divorce thing.

"That's okay, Blair," Joel shrugged. "It's a sad thing when a marriage ends. Even if you're expecting it, even if you're not in love anymore. It doesn't matter. It's just hard."

"It must be difficult. I really can't imagine." And he couldn't. Frankly, he had very little idea of how a normal, long-term romantic relationship was conducted. Naomi had had many friends and lovers, but no long term romantic partnerships. With Naomi as an example, he'd always treated commitment cautiously, afraid that it meant limiting options, ruling out other, more interesting possibilities. He'd never considered that committing to another person could mean *opening up* new opportunities. That reordering the universe into a pattern of two instead of one could be liberating. It had never occurred to him, until Jim.

"I guess you can't, huh Blair? Your mom never got married did she?"

Blair shook his head. "No, she didn't." He always felt a little uncomfortable talking about his mother's choices to people like Joel. People who, however well meaning, had led more traditional lives.

"Have you ever been in love?" Joel sounded almost wistful.

"Yeah man. A few times." Blair forced his gaze away from Jim and looked at Joel. He was supposed to be cheering his friend up, not lusting after his roommate. "I'm a lot more acquainted with lust than love, though," he smiled.

Indeed. It felt strange to fall in love backwards. Usually, he fell headlong into lust, waking unpleasantly when the giddy romance burned away to reveal the everyday dirt and grit of reality and incompatibility. But all that had already happened with Jim. They'd fought over the remote, the toothpaste and the 'proper' way to fold towels and clean the bathroom. They'd argued politics, economics and music, haggled over phone bills and dinner plans. They'd already made all the compromises couples made and then some. And nonetheless, it was there -- this feeling, this *passion*. What had started as a tiny alpine spring had become, three years downstream, a deep, wide river coursing through a fertile valley.

"You think that feeling's going to last forever, you know? But it doesn't. It never does." Joel said bleakly.

In the long silence that followed, Blair stared at his clasped hands, acutely aware of situation's irony: Joel ending a lengthy relationship, and Blair, for the first time, contemplating -- forever. With a man, no less. The 'man' portion of the equation wasn't really a problem, more a social complication. It was the 'forever' part that was troubling. Would this happen to them? Would the fantasy, the possibility of forever dissolve, like it had with Joel and Alicia, and Jim and Carolyn, into arguments, misunderstandings and betrayal? Abruptly, his resolve strengthened. There were no guarantees in life, but he could do his best; that's all anyone could do. If nothing else, he suspected that 'forever' with a guy like Jim Ellison would be one helluva bizarre ride.

"Look Joel," Blair changed the subject, tabling his concerns in favor of a problem he *could* solve instead, "I won *eight* tickets to New Mexico tonight. Why don't you come too?"

Joel looked dubious, "I don't know, Blair..."

"It'll be great! A change of venue, get your mind off things a bit. A new setting. Maybe have some fun. Go fishing, horseback riding, camp out. Get away from all the, well, hassles here, you know?"

"Well...I wouldn't want to impose..."

"C'mon man, it's no imposition. I'm inviting you! Jim is going. Megan, Brian and Henry are interested. I may even convince Simon and Daryl. What do you say? You could use a little time off."

"Okay, Blair. It sounds great. It *would* be great to get away for a bit. Maybe change of scenery is just what I need."

"Excellent, man!" Blair smiled with satisfaction. He might not be able solve anyones problems or answer his own burning questions, but thanks to the Lazy K Ranch, he *could* provide a distraction.

*

The new shoes pinched his toes, his jaw ached from smiling mindlessly at his dance partners and his nose was congested from the conflusion of perfumes and colognes in the room. However, Jim stubbornly refused to leave the safety of the dance floor. Especially since Sandburg would inevitably corner him and talk him to death about what he'd meant earlier. Three fox-trots, two cha-chas and four waltzes later, he still couldn't quite decide what to *do* about what he'd *meant*. It was all too obvious that he wasn't flying solo -- Sandburg's pheromones and his body's rather revealing heat pattern were undeniable evidence that the attraction was reciprocal. //Dance. Just keep dancing, Ellison, and you'll be safe.// The orchestra launched into a tango and Megan abruptly cut in on his current dance partner.

"So Jimbo, how's your tango?" Connor eyed him speculatively. Jim blinked in surprise. She was incredibly alluring in a dark green, strapless dress that complemented her auburn hair. It startled him for a second. He was more accustomed to thinking of Megan as an aggressive, no-holds-barred cop rather than as an undeniably sexy woman.

"My tango? Fine, Connor. Why?" Jim asked over the opening strains of the music. "Trying to make Rafe jealous?"

"When you have to work hard for something you want, you appreciate it more when you finally get it," She smiled deviously, eyes twinkling. "What about you, Jim? Trying to make Sandy jealous?"

"What? What the hell are you talking about, Connor?" //Careful Ellison, don't give it all away. // "There's nothing between me and Sandburg."

"Methinks the detective doth protest too much," Megan chuckled, "Nice try, Jim, but unlike the rest of your colleagues, I can recognize true love when I see it."

Too late. She's figured it out. "Oh you can, huh?" Jim raised one eyebrow quizzically. What the hell to do now?

"Yep. Now, what do you say we show'em how it's done, eh?"

Okay, he could do that. "Fine." Jim grabbed her hand and flamboyantly drew her into his embrace, "You're on." And so they danced.

Sandburg probably had some fancy academic term for it, but it all boiled down to flirting. Megan flirting with Brian and Jim flirting with Blair. Moving through the sensual dance, Jim could feel the heat of his friend's speculative gaze. Jim glanced over Megan's shoulder at Blair who was ostensibly talking with Joel but who was staring intently at *him*. He wondered what it would be like to dance with Blair, to feel his partner's hard, wrestler's body in his arms, the silken cascade of dark curls flowing over sensitive fingers.

He should be bothered by falling in love with a man, shouldn't he? It wasn't like there was anything *wrong* with it, objectively -- other people did it all the time. But, all his life, he'd followed orders, played by the rules. Rules about what was acceptable, how to behave, whom to kill and ultimately, whom to love. And a man loving another man definitely wasn't in the rule book.

But loving Blair was so *easy*, so obviously right, rule book be damned. Long ago, his childhood mentor, Bud, had counseled him to trust himself, his feelings. And now, strange or unsettling as they might be, Jim decided to follow his heart. He could count on Sandburg to figure it all out. Likely his Guide had some complicated theories on latent homosexual desire in Sentinels; his partner had a theory on just about everything else.

The tempo of the music increased and he spun Megan flamboyantly. She was a fantastic dance partner, light on her feet and seductive as all hell. If Rafe didn't make a definitive move after this, his libido should be declared dead. Jim's own was hopelessly confused, spiking on the heady combination of Connor's supple body in his arms, her perfume and pheromones and Sandburg's dark, smoldering gaze, lush with possibility. Exactly how *did* one make love to a man? Jim failed to suppress an evil grin; he had some research to do in the next few weeks.

"Those must be some mighty wicked thoughts, detective." Megan commented wryly, crushing her bosom against his chest as the music surged.

"Mmmm," Jim responded noncommittally, "Connor, you have no idea," and swept her across the dance floor, the enthusiastic cheers of the crowd ringing in his ears.

*

** Cascade PD, Major Crime  
Monday 27 July  
**

Frustrated with his dissertation's latest revision, Blair decided take a break and head down to the station to help Jim on his latest robbery case. After two tedious hours combing through a suspect's credit card receipts and phone records, he was pretty sure the trip had been a mistake. He should have been suspicious when his partner looked so happy to see him.

"Sandburg! My office!"

Now he was *positive* he'd made a mistake.

Megan raised an eyebrow and Brown snickered, "Uh oh, Hairboy. What'd you do now?"

Blair mutely appealed to Jim, who held up his hands. "He specifically asked for you, Chief. You're on your own here."

"Thanks very much, *partner*," Blair muttered sarcastically under his breath. "And no eavesdropping!" His irritating Sentinel chuckled.

Once in the office, Simon slammed the door and silently pointed to a chair with his cigar. Puzzled but unintimidated, Blair sat down as Simon began to pace. He stifled a cough but wisely forbore to mention the department's 'No Smoking' policy.

"Exactly when were you planning to tell me that you'd invited the entire department on your little excursion to New Mexico?"

Uh oh.

"Well, Sim -- uh, Captain, the *entire* department is a bit of an exaggeration, isn't it?" Simon glowered at him. "I, uh talked to a *few* of the detectives at the Awards' Banquet and they all said they had vacation time coming up, and -- "

"And you couldn't find a slew of co-eds to take with you? A bunch of professors or grad students or something? Instead of *half* the detectives in my department?"

"Uh, well -- "

"Do you have *any* idea what a logistical nightmare this little scheme of yours has caused?" Simon paced to the door. "Four of my detectives and the Captain of the Bomb Squad?" Back to the window again, "All with more time off accumulated than is *legal* for City workers." Simon paused, muttered as an aside, "With the exception of Connor, who's a special case entirely." Midway to the door again, Simon stopped in front of him and glared. "All putting in vacation requests at once?"

Shit. Simon wasn't gonna let them go on the trip. Damn. Jim would *kill* him and the rest would help hide his poor pathetic body where it'd never be found. Most likely after they'd hidden Simon's first. Hmm. Simon. Now *that* was an idea.

"But Captain -- "

"Look, Blair, I know that the 'real world' is difficult for you academic types to understand, but unlike professors and students, *crooks* don't take summers off."

"It's just for a week, Simon. One week. Six days total, actually. That's all."

Simon held up a hand and shook his head, "And to top it all off, you just *had* to go and tell Daryl, didn't you, Sandburg."

"What? What was wrong with that?"

"Don't try that innocent thing, Sandburg. The 'Lost Puppy Dog Look' may work on Ellison, but it sure doesn't work on me!"

"Simon, I have *no* idea what you're talking about, man"

"On top of everything else, *now* I have a furious ex-wife on my hands." Simon stalked around his desk and sat down with a huff. "Ex-wives, Sandburg. Do your best to never get one. Daryl and Joan were *supposed* to go to her parents' the second week in August." He stabbed at Blair with his cigar for emphasis. "The exact same week as your trip. Now, she's pissed because she thinks I'm trying to keep my son from seeing his grandparents."

Oops. "Jeez, Simon. I'm really sorry to hear that," Blair stammered. "But, you and Daryl are going. What's wrong with taking along everyone else? Why can't you just rearrange the duty roster? Besides, I've already invited them."

"You haven't heard a word I've said here, Sandburg." Simon chomped on the cigar and pointed to the door. "You're just going to have figure out a way to *uninvite* them. I simply can't let five principals in this department go on vacation at once."

"Can't or won't?" Blair muttered under his breath. //And he didn't even say 'Thanks for inviting me and Daryl, Blair'.// As the door slammed shut behind him, Blair pondered his options. Telling five stressed out, over-worked detectives that their vacation was cancelled didn't have much appeal.

"So, Sandy, what gives?"

"Yeah, Blair, what'd Simon want?"

"Hey guys, look. Don't be pissed off at me, but I think that it'd be better if I took along some of my friends from the University on the trip to New Mexico."

"What?"

"Are you *univiting* us, Hairboy?"

"Explain yourself, Sandburg," Jim literally growled.

"Well, you guys *are* the best detectives in the department and having you all gone at once would create a big personnel hole and complicate the schedule and I didn't exactly clear it all with Simon first..."

As one, Taggart, Connor, Rafe, Brown and Ellison leaped to their feet. "What?!"

"He's gonna cancel our vacations?"

"This is ridiculous!"

"I've got *five* weeks of vacation saved up!"

"I haven't had a day off in seven weeks! Screw the schedule!"

"He can't do this!"

Blair sat down in Jim's vacated chair and shrugged, "Tell it to the man." He leaned back and put his feet up on the desk.

Again as one, the group turned and stalked towards Simon's office.

//Ah yes,// Blair thought smugly, //that'll work.//

Fifteen minutes, forty-three seconds later, four detectives and one Bomb Squad Captain exited the office looking pleased. Blair smiled. Until he caught sight of Simon's face.

"Sandburg!"

Revising that dissertation one more time was looking mighty good right about now. "Sorry Simon! Academia calls!"

Blair grabbed his pack, darted into the elevator and frantically jabbed the 'Door Close' button. Who knew Banks could move that fast?

*

** IotaTech Headquarters  
Tuesday, 28 July  
**

"You dumbshits!" Rob shouted, "I can't believe you'd do this!" Red, Leslie and Ben winced involuntarily.

The tall red-head stalked around the office suite shaking her head, "Red -- you, you I can believe. You're the one who's ethically challenged. But Ben, you're the straight arrow here! I trusted you! With my fucking life savings! You total, complete idiots! What the *hell* were you thinking?"

"Calm down, Rob," Red placated lamely, "It's not that big a deal."

"I humbly beg to disagree," Leslie said quietly, arms folded across his chest. "You morons could get us all sent to jail."

"Jail? Don't you think you're exaggerating a bit here, Les?" Ben asked, desperately trying to downplay the situation. "Nothing's going to happen. We've got the cash, we're solvent again and no one is the wiser."

"Did you guys ever stop to think exactly what might happen if you'd gotten caught? Software piracy is *illegal*. Fines and jail time are all real possibilities here," Leslie pointed out reasonably.

"It's not *really* piracy," Red protested, "All we did was strip the encryption from the software. That's it."

"Right, Red. First you defeated the anti-piracy encryption on MicroSoft's 'Business Suite'. And *then* you made the application available to an agent who, quite likely, duplicated and distributed it."

"Okay, I'll admit. It *is* a bit of a gray area, but..."

"Gray area, my ass! Bits are bits, gentlemen. Whether they're on a disk, a CD-ROM or wrapped up nice and neat in a TCP/IP packet floating in the ether doesn't matter worth a damn. You copied the bits and illegally transported them. *That* is known as software piracy!"

"How did you guys find out about it anyway?" Red grumbled.

"It wasn't all that hard, genius. You're not the only person who can hack. Try using a less obvious password next time."

His jaw dropped in shock. "You guys broke into my machine?"

"Damn straight we did!" Leslie snapped uncharacteristically. "Partners in a business venture tend to get a bit suspicious when over $200,000 seeps into their accounts via some mysterious and later verified to be *bogus* consulting fees from the CEO and CTO."

Rob put her hands on her hips and glared. "It wasn't difficult to figure it all out with the two of you guys skulking around -- midnight meetings and absurd equipment requisitions. Like the damn T-1 line and the multi-processor Sun box."

Ben closed his eyes and sighed, defeated.

"On top of everything else, *you*, Timothy Redford, committed another federal crime by arranging to sell the modified encryption algorithm," Leslie added forcefully.

Red was stunned. "How the hell did you know about that?"

"Next time, Red, try encrypting your email, too."

Ben was furious. "Red! We agreed not to do that! You weren't going to sell the algorithm! What the hell have you done?!"

"Software as munitions. That law is *so* bogus! A simple algorithm is somehow the equivalent of a side-winder missile." Red waved his hand dismissively.

"Yeah Red? Well tell it to the Feds. And then get set to meet your new cellmate, Bubba." Rob was furious.

"Ben," Leslie's voice was quiet, though harsh in the silence. "You should have known better. This partnership, our business was built on trust. You've seriously jeopardized that trust with these actions. Do you understand that?"

"Guys! You *have* to understand. I had to meet payroll, I had to pay you guys and pay for the equipment and the new T-1 line," Ben said desperately.

"Fuck payroll!" shouted Rob, "Fuck equipment! And fuck the goddamn T-1 line! Red's the one who thought it was such a great idea. I was just fine with the friggin 56k and my laptop! We didn't need additional workstations to write more Java and GNU C++ code! Red just needed that extra equipment to run the decryption sequences."

"Yeah, and what would you have done without money, huh?" Red sneered, affronted, "You can't pay the damn nursing home with IOUs."

"Screw you, you amoral asshole!" Rob shouted. "Leave my mother out of this! I would have figured something out!"

She continued to pace the room agitatedly. "My engineers are 3 months from going live with this product. The graphic designer has all the product lit and the graphics completed. Les has all the joint venture agreements in place. We've got *two* major embedded systems deals about to go through. Three months 'til we launch the product that will revolutionize the way data is securely transported over the web. Three months! And you absolute *morons* do something illegal and fuck it all up!" Rob gestured furiously. "I am so absolutely pissed at you both I can't see straight."

Nauseous and weak, Ben sat down heavily at the conference table.

"You know what we're going to do?" Leslie rose and walked to the window. "We're going to cut a deal."

"Deal?" Red said stiffly, suspicious. "What deal? With who?"

"Whom," Leslie corrected absently. "Ben is going to call up some of his Wharton JD-MBA buddies and we're going to go to the Feds and cut a deal."

"Hello! Guys? We haven't been *caught*. Don't you get it? No one *knows* about it. We're free and clear." Red said, desperately, circling the table to stand beside Ben's chair.

"*I* know about it, shit-for-brains!" Rob stormed. "It's wrong, it's illegal and I'm furious that you got me involved in all this!"

"I'm not going to let all my hard work, not to mention my investment capital, go for nothing because I stood back and kept my mouth shut." Leslie sighed, shaking his head sadly.

"Look guys. I don't think that you understand here. The people that we worked with aren't exactly going to be 'thrilled' that we turned them in, if you know what I mean," Ben protested weakly.

"Do it, or we'll do it for you." Rob spun his chair around and leaned forward threateningly, pinning him in the seat.

"You've got several friends in high places." Leslie picked up the portable phone and handed it to Ben. "Make the phone call, Ben."

"Dial. Now." Rob added, scowling menacingly.

"C'mon Ben, don't cave, man! We haven't been caught. Nobody knows we did anything wrong."

"You!" Rob pinned him with a hard stare, "Shut the hell up or I'll tie you up and stuff your bony ass under the floor in the machine room."

At 6' 2" , 155 pounds, former Ironman triathlete and now majorly pissed off software engineer Robin Christine McAndrews was more than capable of doing just that. Red, wisely for once, shut the hell up. And Ben, hands trembling, made the call.

*

** Cascade International Airport  
Early Friday morning, August 14  
5:52 am  
**

The airport was quiet at 5:52 am with only a few other business travelers awaiting flights in the United terminal. Weak, early morning sun streamed through the windows sparking distracting red highlights in Sandburg's hair. Jim felt very old, very tired and very horny following Blair into the gate area, admiring his partner's flannel-clad form.

The Major Crime crew was slumped around the gate area, baggage strewn here and there. Brown was dozing over one of Rafe's GQ Magazines, with Daryl sprawled in the aisle at his feet, head on a rolled up jacket. Simon was reading a cheesy spy novel with his eyes closed and Joel snored intermittently, propped up against a cement pillar. Megan and Rafe snoozed obliviously sharing Rafe's Armani rain coat. Together, they made the proverbial 'cute couple'.

"Hey guys! What's up?" Blair dropped his bags next to the row of seats. "I am *so* looking forward to getting out of this town." He planted his feet and stretched indulgently, the loud popping of vertebra startling the bleary-eyed group assembled at Gate 16. "This is gonna be *great*!"

"Sandy! Ick!" Megan roused from her doze and grimaced.

"What? What'd I do now?"

"Number one, that *thing* you just did with your spine is disgusting. And number two, no one should be so -- so *awake* at 6:00 am!"

"Yeah, Sandburg. Just how much caffeine have you had anyway?"

"Caffeine? No caffeine here, Rafe, my man! Just high on life! Looking forward to five days of fun in the sun. Fresh air, fishing, camping. And best of all: no dissertations and no crooks!"

//High on life, my ass.// His partner had quaffed at least a gallon of coffee yesterday afternoon and had been slamming black tea all night, huddled over his laptop into the wee hours of the morning -- "Gotta email this last revision before we leave for the airport, Jim." Despite the superficial bounce, Sandburg looked to be one very short step away from falling flat on his face. Get him horizontal and he'd be asleep in seconds. Ellison knew he didn't look much better. In contrast to Blair's death-on-speed imitation, he was death reheated, a casualty of the week's three stakeouts, two shoot-outs and endless reports, like every one of the assembled detectives. Summer crime sprees were a bitch.

"I hear you, Blair," Joel said between jaw cracking yawns. "This week has been something else. I don't think I've been this exhausted in ages." Megan and Rafe nodded bleary assent. "Can't wait to get to New Mexico!"

Jim tore his eyes away from Sandburg's flat, furry stomach left exposed by the stretch, "Did they call our flights yet, H?"

"Yeah. We should be boarding in a couple of minutes. Ours -- yours, Sandburg's, Joel's and mine goes out of Gate 14, by the way." Henry said, rising from his seat and throwing the magazine back to Rafe.

"Separate flights?" Blair smacked his forehead, "Oh yeah, that's right. Department rules. I forgot."

"Yeah, Sandburg, wouldn't want to take out all of Cascade's primo detectives in a single flaming plane crash."

Yawning widely, Daryl rubbed his eyes and shuddered. "Do you guys mind not being so morbid?"

"Daryl doesn't like flying," Simon commented.

"I don't either," Joel shuddered. "I've never gotten used to it."

"Well, look on the bright side. You're more likely to be killed in a traffic accident than a plane crash," Blair said optimistically.

"Thanks for enlightening us, Sandburg," Simon growled at him, then scowled, "Oh, and by the way, I'm *still* not talking to you."

"Come on Simon. Are you still mad at me about the other day? I was just preserving my hide from the wrath of pissed off Major Crime's detectives." Blair indicated said detectives with a sweep of his hand, "Next time, do your own dirty work."

"My own dirty work, huh? Do you guys have *any* idea how difficult it was to convince Chief Warren to let half the squad go on this trip?"

"Yeah, Simon. How *did* you pull it off?" Rafe wanted to know.

Simon managed to look simultaneously annoyed and smug, "Well, I had to pull in a few favors."

"I'll just bet you did, sir. Who had all the unpaid speeding tickets and minor drug violations."

"None of your damn business, Ellison. Just be lucky that they did."

The gate attendant announced boarding for flights 53 and 26 to Denver and Phoenix, respectively, with connections to Albuquerque. They all gathered their bags trudged wearily down the jetway and onto their planes.

Nearly giddy with exhaustion, Jim yielded to temptation and, as Blair leaned over to take seat 23 next to Brown, he grabbed one cheek of his Guide's luscious ass. Sandburg yelped in surprise and whacked his head on the overhead bin. "Ow!"

"You okay there, Chief?" Jim asked solicitously, rubbing the top of Blair's head, ruffling his hair.

Sandburg glared at him with commingled lust and annoyance, "Just *fine*, Ellison." He bared his teeth in a not-quite smile, and proceeded to make the next several hours a little slice of hell.

Blair Sandburg -- owner of the smallest bladder in all 50 states. Each of his numerous trips to the restroom required shoving his ass in Jim's face or an 'accidental' brush against his thigh. For reasons unknown, Jim's meals were deemed exceptionally tasty and Sandburg spent breakfast and lunch slathering his pheromones all over Jim's silverware, croissant and sandwich. Finally, after Brown fell sleep, his partner launched into a truly inspired recitation of obscene, Sentinel-themed limericks. //How the *hell* can there be *that* many risque words that rhyme with 'Jim'?//

Three hours into the flight, Jim Ellison had conclusively determined that long flannel shirts where a good thing, death by embarrassment was actually impossible and that payback was *definitely* gonna be a bitch.

*

** Albuquerque, New Mexico  
Hertz Rent-A-Car counter  
Later that day  
**

The mid-afternoon sun filtered through the large, dusty windows of the rental car agency. Jim leaned against the counter, as near Sandburg as he could discreetly manage, watching the drama unfold.

Captain Simon Banks drew himself up to his full height and glowered impressively at the petite, blonde manager. "I booked *two* cars. See, I have the confirmation right here." Silently amused, Jim smiled and glanced at his partner. Sandburg was holding back some pithy observation on alpha-male displays right about now, no doubt.

"Sir, I understand," the manager explained patiently for the third time, "but there was a mix up with the reservation and we don't have two cars available. All we have in the lot is a minivan."

"A minivan? Hell no. I am *not* driving around in a minivan, dammit. Do I look like the kind of guy who'd drive a minivan?"

"That's all that's available, sir. It's our larger model and it should comfortably seat all of your colleagues."

Simon, hands on hips, drew a deep breath to protest, but Blair quickly stepped up to the counter. Ah, Sandburg to the rescue.

Tucking his hair behind one ear, he smiled winsomely, "Surely there is something we can work out here, Ms.... del Plano." Blair leaned closer to read her name tag.

The pupils of her pale blue eyes dilated and pheromones tickled Jim's nose.

"Exactly what did you have in mind, sir?" she all but purred.

"Well," Blair suggested huskily, "what if you were to give us a reduced rate on the minivan, maybe with unlimited mileage and throw in collision damage coverage?"

"Hmm. Well," she bit her full bottom lip prettily, "why don't I see what I can do..."

Fifteen minutes and one giggle-filled phone number exchange later, his Captain stood in the parking lot, scowling as his son and half the department piled into the dark green minivan.

"Come on, Simon, don't look so glum," Connor consoled. "It's not that bad."

"Yeah, Simon. It's the Cadillac of minivans!" Brown quipped, tossing his bag into the back seat.

"A mommy-mobile is more like it," Rafe chuckled unrepentantly, ducking around Brown to squeeze in beside Megan, "I'm positive that this is dog hair and dried baby food on the seats."

"I feel like the den mother to a pack of oversized boy scouts," Simon grumbled.

"A-hem!" Megan cleared her throat loudly, "I am *not* a boy!"

"Da-ad! Are we there yet?" Joel snickered. Daryl, smiling broadly, wisely refrained from comment.

"You're too big and ugly to be a den mother, Simon." Jim observed.

"Watch it, Ellison, or I'll let your partner navigate."

"Hell," Jim laughed amiably, settling in beside Blair and slapping his Guide's thigh, "I always wanted to see Denver."

"Hey!" Blair objected, jabbing his ribs, "That's not fair! I'm not *that* bad at reading maps!"

Jim smiled. Sandburg could get lost in a supermarket. "Actually, Chief, you are."

The answering glare suggested that his partner wasn't quite as amused as the van load of snickering cops.

*

** Ten miles outside San Ysidro  
Later that afternoon  
**

Marketing propaganda notwithstanding, the minivan did *not* comfortably fit eight passengers. Especially with five eighths of those passengers well over six feet tall. Blair was stuck behind Simon, knees virtually up his nose. Poor Daryl, now nearly 6' 1", in the midst of an adolescent growth-spurt, was squashed in the back left corner, boxed in by Henry; Joel had lucked out and was riding shotgun. Rafe and Megan were in the seat just behind him, all but cooing at each other. And Jim, well Jim Ellison was the Sentinel from hell.

For the past forty-eight minutes, he had been rubbing his thigh against Blair's. Nothing obvious, but his oh-so smug look implied deliberate action. The seats weren't *that* small, dammit! All week they'd teased each other. Almost ready to just come out and say it, but not quite. Aborted confessions, smoldering looks, lingering touches. And someone always walking in at the wrong damn time.

Then, a crime wave hit the city, spawning stake-outs galore. That, on top of yet another dissertation deadline, and by Friday morning, Blair was exhausted, sleep deprived and had been living with a near constant boner, courtesy of Detective James J. Ellison. He'd briefly considered jacking off in the shower and shouting Jim's name in retaliation but hadn't dared go quite that far. He wasn't even going to mention the ass-grab on the plane. At least Jim's squirming and flushed face over the dirty limericks had made up for it.

If he'd had any lingering doubts about Jim's romantic intentions, they'd been laid to rest twenty-three minutes into the drive when Ellison had 'accidentally' spilled a box of milk duds into Blair's lap. Then proceeded to enthusiastically grope around for them 'accidentally' brushing his crotch. The son of a bitch.

"So, guys," Blair sounded rather desperate and squeaky to his own ears, "did you know that the Perseid meteor shower is starting up tonight? With the new moon, we should really get a good view." The caffeine jitters were beginning to catch up with him.

"Really, Sandy?" Megan leaned over the seat between them, brimming with false enthusiasm, "Tell us more."

Jim groaned, shaking his head.

"Well, the Perseids are the most famous of all meteor showers. The earliest record of their activity appears in the Chinese annals in 36AD. Other references appear in Chinese, Japanese and Korean records throughout the 8th, 9th, 10th and 11th centuries, but only sporadic references are found between the 12th and 19th centuries, inclusive."

Blair paused for a desperate breath and continued.

"The Perseids have been referred to as the 'Tears of St. Lawrence', since the meteors seemed to be in abundance during the festival of that Saint on August 10th. They're also called 'the Perseids' because they appear to come from a double cluster in the constellation Perseus. The brighter meteors leave faint spindle-shaped glows along their paths called 'trains' which can last anywhere from seconds to minutes. Since tonight is a new moon, we should be able to see *zillions* of them for *hours*!"

Following his monologue, the van was silent. With the exception of Daryl, who thought flaming chunks of rock were cool and Megan, who sighed and thought all it sounded romantic, most everyone else looked like he'd taken leave of his senses. Jim just looked predatory: as if Blair would be mighty lucky to glimpse any part of the sky tonight, or any night hereafter.

Blair shivered, heat licking in his belly. It was going to be a long ride.

*

****

San Ysidro, New Mexico  
The Lazy K Ranch  
4:45pm  


In Daryl's opinion, the minivan pulled up the long driveway of the Lazy K Ranch not a moment too soon. Knowingly impolite but unable to help himself, he all but flattened Henry, Blair and Jim -- "Sorry guys!" -- scrambling to get out of that damn van. Not only were his legs cramped and aching and his nose stuffed up from Henry's cologne and Megan's perfume, but being trapped in the back corner of the minivan had reminded him how much tight spaces drove him nuts. First, four and a half hours aboard a disease can, then another ninety minutes trapped in this econobox. With no one to talk to even, since Blair was sitting two rows up with Jim and Henry knew zip about computers, video games *or* decent music. Although to be fair, H did have some promising tips for sweet-talking honeys. Everybody else in the van was acting strange. Megan and Brian both wearing goofy, starry-eyed expressions, Joel big time bumming about his divorce, his dad was, being *dad*-like and Jim and Blair -- well, he couldn't figure out exactly *what* was up with them, but whatever it was, it sure as hell was bizarre.

Regardless, he was still psyched to be on the trip. His parents had had a real knock-down drag-out over it, but dad had won. Thank god. Although the two of them didn't have the greatest track record with vacations, five days on a real ranch beat out two weeks worth of cheek-pinching and "Daryl, you've grown so big", straight up. Although he would miss his Nana's peach cobbler.

"So, whaddya think, Daryl?" Blair asked him, coming up beside him, "Pretty cool place, huh?"

The ranch itself was nestled in hillside of a small valley in the majestic San Pedro mountains. Red-roofed, adobe-style main buildings were arranged in a U-shape with a beautiful central fountain. A pool glittered behind a wrought iron fence and several large adobe out-buildings and corrals and paddocks surrounded the area. Grazing cows and sheep dotted the hillsides.

"Yeah, man. This place is seriously bumpin'!" he agreed, looking around at the guests milling about the courtyard. His father scowled at him and grumbled, "Speak English, Daryl."

"Yes, *daddy*," Daryl said sarcastically. "Well, gosh, golly, *gee*, Mr. Sandburg, this ranch sure is neat-o!"

"Wise guy," his father muttered, cuffing the back of his head. "Okay people, let's go check in, shall we?" his father grabbed up their bags and headed for the registration office.

While everyone else signed in at the desk, Daryl relaxed on one of the brown leather couches and checked out the sights -- and some mighty fine sights there were. Blondes, brunettes, red-heads. Tall, short, slender, athletic, lush and exotic. Oh yeah. This was gonna be one *excellent* vacation!

*

The extensive lobby was cool and dark in contrast to the late summer heat and dust outside. Jim placed his and Blair's bags next to one of the leather couches and scanned the room. Terracotta and colorful ceramic tiles lined the floor and the white washed walls hung with bright Navajo blankets, rose to meet heavy wooden beams in the ceiling overhead. Tables throughout the room displayed Native pottery and baskets and the floor was covered with several large, black and white cow-hides. Sandburg gave his name at the desk and the clerk, seeming impressed, went to fetch the owner.

"Okay. So which of you handsome gentlemen is Professor Blair Sandburg?" A tall, stately, raven-haired woman in leather trousers and blue denim shirt entered the room. Beautiful silver and turquoise jewelry adorned her throat and wrists.

"That would be me." Blair smiled warmly as everyone else groaned. "And, it's just 'Blair', not 'Professor'."

"Well, Blair, everyone," she indicated the assembled group, "Welcome to the Lazy K Ranch. I'm the owner, Elena Martinez-Mitchell."

"Glad to be here, Elena. Chairman Willis mentioned that you two are sorority sisters from the University of Colorado."

"Oh yes! Marge and I go *way* back! When she called me about the raffle, it being for such a good cause, I was happy to help out."

"A trip for eight is a mighty generous contribution, Ms. Martinez-Mitchell." Simon commented. "I'm Simon Banks, by the way."

"Elena, please," she smiled at Simon warmly for a moment. "My late husband and I were very fortunate, Simon. It's only right that I give some of that back to others in need and help a good cause."

Simon smiled warmly, seeming intrigued. "Well, Elena, on behalf of the Cascade PD, we're very grateful to be the recipient of your good will." Jim smiled to himself, noting the automatic way that Simon and Elena responded to one another. Sandburg had noticed the exchange as well and Jim caught the speculative, match-making gleam in his partner's eye.

Following other introductions, Elena described the ranch. "We've got some wonderful amenities here, everyone. In addition to 45 guest rooms, we have two heated swimming pools, a Jacuzzi, fitness center, 50 miles of riding and hiking trails, sight seeing tours of dinosaur bones and Paleolithic Native American sites, and, of course, some cattle rustling demonstrations."

"This isn't a ranch, it's a *resort*!" Megan exclaimed.

"Rustic is all well and good, Megan, but it's nice to have all the comforts of home and then some after a long day on the trails," Elena smiled graciously. "Oh, and tonight is the first night of the Perseid Meteor Shower. For those of you know don't know what ..."

"We know *all* about it, thanks," Brown chuckled, "Courtesy of *Professor* Sandburg, here."

Elena raised an eloquent eye brow, "Well, if any of you are interested, we're having a meteor watch tonight in the lower valley. If you've never seen it before, it's truly the sight of a lifetime. Perhaps you'd all like to come along? We're meeting tonight in the lobby at 9:30pm."

Elena took several keys from behind the desk and distributed them. "So, let's get you keys to your rooms." Brown and Rafe were less thrilled about having to share a room, however Megan's charming smile and discreet jab to Rafe's ribs eased tensions.

"Blair, as first prize winner in the raffle, you have been given the Santo Domingo Suite, #105." Elena handed the final key to his partner with a flourish. "This suite features a master bedroom, dining room, media room, fireplace, Jacuzzi, and a beautiful view of the mountains."

"A *suite*? Cool!" Sandburg looked and sounded like a kid on Christmas morning.

"Dinner Hour begins at 7:00pm in the main dining room and the bar is open until 2:30. If you'll follow me, Blair, I'll show you to your suite."

*

"Just checking in today?"

Daryl looked up quickly and gaped at the red-haired goddess addressing him. He stood and smiled. Taller than he was, she was built like, well, like a goddess. Spiky hair, creamy skin with freckles, lots of earrings and legs...damn! The woman was *phat*! //Speak Daryl! Open your mouth and *talk* to the woman!//

"Uh, yeah. My friend won a trip here in a raffle and invited me to come along. My name is Daryl, by the way."

"Daryl. Nice to meet you. I'm Robin. 'Rob' for short." They shook hands briefly.

"Do you work here, Rob or are you a guest?"

"Actually, my partners and I have a software company located here on the ranch. IotaTech. Perhaps you've heard of it?"

Daryl wracked his brain for a moment, "Oh yeah! It's an Internet startup, right?"

"Exactly!" she looked very pleased. "You into computers?"

"Oh Yeah. They're pretty cool."

"You should stop by. I'll show you around. We're in Suite #107."

Daryl could scarcely believe his good fortune, "That's sounds great! I'd like that."

"Yo, Rob! C'mon, they've installed the T-1!" Rob turned as several guys across the lobby called and waved her over. "Hey, look I've gotta go, Daryl. But, see you later?"

His knees weakened when she smiled and winked at him, before heading out the door with her friends.

A moment later, Jim and Blair walked by, accompanied by the ranch owner, Elena. "Hellooo, Casanova!" Blair snickered, slapping Daryl's back, "Taking lessons from H these days?"

"Yeah, Daryl," Jim agreed. "If that smile gets any wider, your face'll crack!"

"Blair, man, did I already thank you for inviting me on this trip?"

*

****

Lazy K Ranch, Suite #105  
The Santo Domingo Suite  


The suite was every bit as amazing as Elena had indicated. Each of the three rooms was beautifully appointed with Native pottery, blankets and carvings. After briefly scanning the interior, Blair simply had to comment on the authentic furnishings.

"Elena, this suite is *wonderful*!" he enthused. "The Navajo baskets and ceremonial sand paintings. Everything! This is just *great*!" Unable to help himself, he swept through the main room examining the artifacts, dragging his partner behind him. "Check this out, Jim! These two sand figures represent the Warrior Twins, indicative of thought and action. And these here are the Talking God and the Calling God!"

Jim leaned against the wall and chuckled, "Leave it to you Sandburg, to end up with a hotel room that doubles as a museum."

"I'm glad you like the suite, Blair. I see that you know a lot about the various artifacts we have here on the ranch."

"Yeah, I'm an anthropologist, so I'm pretty familiar with the art of many cultures."

"Anthropologist? I thought Jim said you were his partner on the force?" She looked at Jim for confirmation.

"He's both." His partner smiled, shaking his head. "It's a long, long story."

"And Simon Banks is your captain?" Elena asked, sounding more than casually interested.

"Yes. Simon's a great guy." //I *knew* she was interested in Simon!// Blair was thrilled and magnanimously decided to do Simon a good turn, even though they were ostensibly at odds.

"And the young man on the couch -- Daryl was it? -- is his son?"

"Oh yeah. Daryl's great! He almost didn't get to come on the trip because of Simon's *ex*-wife and all but I guess they got everything worked out."

"Simon seems like quite a gentleman."

"Oh he is! Simon is a regular 'Officer and a Gentleman', right Jim?" What harm could a little obsfucation and exaggeration do?

"Matchmakers rarely prosper, Sandburg," Jim muttered under his breath, pretending to examine one of the Hopi wall hangings.

The bathroom alone was bigger than his bedroom in the loft and the master bedroom, complete with fireplace and king size bed, was frankly enormous. A big screen TV and state-of-the-art stereo system completed the well-appointed media room which was stocked with a dizzying assortment of laser and compact disks.

"Like Megan said, this isn't a ranch, Elena, *this* is a resort!"

"Well, Blair, we get lots of vacationing Hollywood stars here, so luxury is a necessity for our clientele. We want them to feel right at home." Elena smiled and handed him his key, "Please feel free to call upon me if you need anything, Blair, Jim. Hope to see you both tonight for the meteor shower."

"Thanks again, Elena!" he called as she left the suite, closing the door behind her.

Alone for the first time in hours, he and Jim awkwardly stared at one another for a long moment.

"Blair, I -- "

"Jim -- "

They spoke simultaneously, both nervous. Blair's hands shook and huge, hairy moths knocked around in his stomach. Weeks of innuendo, merciless flirting, teasing and unabated lust collapsed precipitously into this single moment of passionate expectation. Gathering his nerve, he stepped close and slowly reached up with both hands, gently sliding his fingers along Jim's lips, then cheek, caressing the rim of his ear, slipping his fingers into Jim's short, silky hair. His partner closed the distance and Blair found himself in a warm, solid embrace, body pressed tightly against Jim's, their lips mere inches apart. He tilted his head obligingly, offering himself to his friend, eyes sliding closed, body thrumming with anticipation.

"Hey Hairboy! Open up!" Henry's voice was accompanied by several loud thumps on the door.

"Yeah, Sandburg! C'mon and show us the 'Presidential Suite'!"

"Dammit!" Startled, they both jumped apart. "Of all the times to want a tour --"

Jim smiled wryly, "It's okay, Chief." He bent and kissed Blair softly. "Just hold onto these thoughts for later, okay?" His Sentinel's piercing blue eyes were dark with lustful promise.

Stunned, Blair could barely form a coherent thought, let alone a verbal response. He probably looked like he'd been hit in the back of the head with a 2" x 4". He certainly felt like it.

"A speechless Sandburg!" Jim marveled, shaking his head and walking to the door, "I should have kissed you years ago! See you at dinner."

The Major Crimes horde spilled into the room and Blair gave them the ten-cent tour, completely on auto-pilot. The utter mundanity of 'now' evaporated in the searing heat of the fascinating passionate possibilities of Jim's promised 'later'.

*

****

IotaTech Headquarters  
Lazy K Ranch, Suite #107  


"So, Amazon. Who was the big, buff guy you were talking to? Conan?"

"None of your business, you little shit," Rob folded her arms and glared at Red.

"Fraternizing with the guests is a no-no, oh Xena, *Barbarian* Princess."

"Ben," Rob warned menacingly, "put your pet snake on a leash before I skin it and make a belt."

Ben grimaced. Tensions were still high within the group. How could they *not* be? Changing the subject seemed like a good idea, "Red, you had news about the T-1?"

"Yeah. The T-1 was fully installed, I've got the routing tables set up and we are officially on line!"

The announcement was met with stony silence from Leslie and Rob.

"Well, our meeting with our lawyer and the Feds and the DA is at 10:00 am tomorrow morning. We'll meet at Preston's office at 9:30. Don't be late, okay people?" After weeks of negotiation and anonymous communications, they were finally going to meet face-to-face with the Feds and the District Attorney.

"Cops and Feds working on a Saturday. Who'da thunk, eh?" Red commented wryly. They had yet to convince Red this wasn't all a big joke.

"Right, Red," Leslie shook his head, "Your tax dollars hard at work."

Ben turned back to his computer and gathered the final papers requested by their attorney, Michael Preston. He wondered if his group could ever mend things and reform into the cantankerous, optimistic and effective team they'd been three years ago when they'd created IotaTech. Eyes closed briefly against the pain, he sighed, missing the camaraderie.

*

****

Lazy K Ranch  
Rancheros Bar and Grill  
Later that night  


After unpacking and showering in a sumptuously large and well-appointed bathroom, Jim went looking for Sandburg. According to Rafe and Connor, his elusive partner was last seen with Daryl and a tall red-head, heading in the direction of the Southwestern-themed bar. Probably the woman Daryl had been talking to earlier. Instead of Blair, he found Joel staring morosely at the bottom of a martini glass.

"Hey Joel. You seen Sandburg?"

"Nah, Jim. I haven't. Sorry."

"What's the matter, man?" Jim sat down beside him, gesturing for the bartender. For some reason, the bar was relatively empty just before the dinner hour. "You look like you lost your last dollar and then stepped in dog do."

"It's just the divorce, Jim." Joel heaved a big sigh and polished off his martini. "I signed the papers this morning. Dropped'em off on the way to the airport."

"Ouch. That hurts. Sorry, man." Jim sighed inwardly, torn between the desire to help Joel, be sympathetic, and his underlying excitement and happiness about his nascent relationship with Blair. It was tough being ridiculously happy around people who weren't.

A moment later, Simon walked in, taking another barstool next to Joel. The bartender plunked down Jim's beer and Simon requested a second one, "Jim, Joel, what's up guys?"

"Joel signed his divorce papers this morning."

Simon nodded sympathetically, patting Joel's shoulder, "If any two people understand, we do, Joel. Jim and I definitely know the drill."

"Too true, my friend," Jim agreed, baffled by his own optimism about a relationship with Blair. Here, he'd never even *been* with man -- //Be honest here, Ellison -- you've *looked*, you've just never *touched*// -- and yet somehow he knew, with cellular certainty, that their crazy mating dance would end in a life-long partnership. What was it about his friend that made him willing to throw away his self-image, the expectations of others and nearly 40 years of conditioning? Insanity. And the triumph of hope over experience.

"I mean, we've been separated for almost a year, but, it still hurts, you know?"

"Yeah, Joel. We know," Simon said somberly. "At least you didn't have kids."

"I guess I should be thankful for that, huh? You and Joan seem to always be at each other's throat over Daryl."

"Yeah. She was furious about this trip, about Daryl not seeing his grandparents this summer. Took a lot of convincing to get her to agree."

"I *thought* this was an amicable divorce. Shows you just how much *I* knew."

"I hear that," Jim nodded. "My divorce started out 'amicable' too, but, it was still a mess. No matter what, it always ends with shouting."

"And this dating scene," Joel continued glumly, "Man, I just can't figure it out."

Simon and Jim both laughed, "Even the people already *in* the scene can't figure it out, Joel. You're no worse off than the rest of us there!"

"I'm doomed," Joel sighed heavily. "Alicia didn't want me. No one will want me. I'm going to spend the rest of my life alone."

"Just be yourself, Joel," Simon counseled, "The rest will come naturally."

Joel shook his head, unconvinced. Jim had no idea what to say since *he'd* never figured out the dating scene either. Jim Ellison, the One Date Wonder. He tried hard to hide his smile; after tonight, that problem would likely be history!

"Will you look at that?" Joel said dismayed, pointing to Henry Brown who'd just entered the bar with a voluptuous, chocolate-skinned beauty in a tight leather miniskirt. "What *is* it about that guy? I swear. Brown and Sandburg. Give'em ten minutes in a room and women are drooling all over them."

All three men turned and watched as a smugly smiling Brown escorted his new lady friend past them and over to a private table.

"Sure is a looker."

"Mmm hmmm! Look at those legs!"

"Legs? Oh yeah, legs. *I* was looking at something else!"

"I don't know guys," Jim shook his head slowly. "There's something about her...I just can't put my finger on what it is, but..." She was beautiful. Gorgeous even. But there was something that was out of place, something missing. Or maybe something extra? Perfume? The shape of her eyes? Her hair? Something. He just couldn't put his finger on it.

"Hell, Jim," Simon guffawed, "No wonder you rarely get past the first date, if you find something strange about *that* woman. I mean, *wow*!"

Jim shook his head and dismissed the problem from his mind. "Anyway, Simon, speaking of dates, I should probably warn you. Sandburg is playing matchmaker for you."

"He's what? With whom? I'm gonna *kill* that kid!"

"Relax, sir. It's the ranch owner, Elena. The one you liked? She sounded pretty interested when she talked to Blair and me this afternoon."

"She did? Hmm. Well, now." Simon seemed mollified, "The kid at least has good taste. If he pulls it off, maybe I'll start speaking to him again."

"Hey, isn't that Maria Sanchez? The painter?" Joel asked suddenly.

"Who?" Simon and Jim asked in unison.

"Maria Galveston Sanchez. Naturalist-painter. Water colors and acrylics? The new 'Georgia O'Keefe' according to 'ArtNews Magazine'?"

Simon and Jim looked at one another and shrugged.

"At the table near the window." Joel indicated, "See her. Pretty woman. Dark-hair, red and orange scarf, sketch pad?"

"Elena told us that a lot of celebrities stay here. Could be her."

"She's a fantastic painter. I've got three of her prints." Joel said animatedly, "Paid a fortune, but it well worth it. She's a master of color and light. She creates truly amazing compositions using ordinary subjects like flowers, trees...man! I can't *believe* you guys have never heard of her!"

"Why don't you go over and talk to her, Joel?" Jim suggested.

"Nah," Joel shook his head dissmissively, "I shouldn't interrupt her."

"C'mon man. She'll be flattered that you recognized her." Simon encouraged. "Maybe you could get an autograph."

"You guys really think it'd be okay?"

Simon gave him a push, "*Go* man! Quit stalling."

"Okay, okay! I'll go." Joel slid off the stool, adjusted his jacket and tie and walked over to see Maria Sanchez, like a man with a purpose.

Simon raised his beer bottle, "And so, on August 14, 1998, Joel Taggart made his first foray into the modern dating scene," he intoned solemnly.

"Here's to his success," Jim clinked his bottle against Simon's, smiling in return.

*

****

Lazy K Ranch  
The Lower Valley  
9:30 pm  


In the company of about fifty other ranch guests, Blair trudged down the dusty trail towards the meteor-watch sight in the lower valley. Flashlights flickered through the trees as they wound their way down into the valley, murmuring quietly among themselves. In the dim lighting, he noticed his friends among the crowd. Megan and Rafe, walking hand in hand, Daryl and his new friend Rob, Simon talking quietly with Elena and H and Joel standing beside two women he didn't recognize. Jim was nowhere to be seen. He'd lost track of his partner after dinner and decided it would look too obvious if he hung around trying to find him; especially since he'd raved about the meteors all afternoon. With his abilities, it'd be easier for Jim to find him anyway.

The combined effects of caffeine, adrenaline, endorphins, not to mention a three-candy-bar sugar rush, had all worn off leaving him exhausted and shaking. A full night's sleep was a distant memory. He stifled a yawn with the back of his hand, vision blurring. As much as he wanted to see the meteors and meet up with Jim, he didn't know how he'd manage to stay awake for either set of fireworks.

Fifteen minutes later, the trail opened onto a broad meadow, where all the watchers assembled. He stood quietly apart from the others and stared up into the fathomless night sky. Within seconds, dozens of meteors streamed overhead, streaking the sky with red and gold trails. The sight was breathtaking.

"Enjoying the show, Chief?" a warm, amused voice at his right startled him. Jim stood at his shoulder wearing a Jags baseball cap and carrying a backpack.

"Yeah man, but I should have brought a jacket. It's freezing out here." Blair rubbed his arms briskly. "I am *so* cold."

"It's August in New Mexico, Sandburg. It's not that cold."

"We're at 5,100 feet man. I know you're like, the heater that walks like a man, but some of us mere mortals get cold."

"Mmmm..." Without warning, strong arms wrapped around his waist under the cover of his two layers of flannel. "...You're just not thinking the right thoughts," his Sentinel purred into his right ear. Blair glanced up at his friend. Jim strongly resembled a very large cat who'd just caught sight of an unguarded bowl of cream. He shivered as Jim's large, warm hand stroked the length of his chest and belly, coming to rest just below his belt buckle. Jim's unexpected boldness surprised him and his own nervousness puzzled the hell out of him. Perhaps it was because nothing in his life had ever meant more than this partnership.

"And what thoughts might those be, Jim?" he asked hoarsely, leaning into his friend's powerful embrace and lacing their fingers. Heat flared in his belly from his Sentinel's touch, spread outward, warming him intimately. Staying awake was suddenly made a helluva lot easier.

"It's kind of crowded here," Warm breath caressed his ear. "Why don't we go someplace else at little more private and I'll tell you?"

Blair smiled up at his friend, deliberately licking his lips. "Sounds like a plan."

"Come on. I saw a place further up the trail."

Bereft of Jim's body heat, Blair shivered, following his friend back up the trail and into the dark woods on the hillside, footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet of scrub pine needles littering the ground. With the moon new, the darkness was complete and Blair stumbled over unseen tree roots. Even after months of PT, he still hadn't fully banished his limp. He grabbed the back of Jim's sweatshirt, "Slow down, man. I can't see in the dark like you."

Warm, strong fingers laced with his own, "That better?"

Blair trembled as the warm hand caressed his then squeezed a little, "Uh, yeah man. Just fine." His throat was suddenly dry. "Exactly where are we headed?"

"There's a rock outcropping with a view of the entire valley up ahead. We can watch from there." Jim's voice was close in the darkness. Electricity, palpable and nearly visible arced between them.

The trees yielded to a large rock ledge overlooking the valley below. Pulling a blanket from his pack, Jim sat down and gestured for Blair to join him. Heart racing, Blair sat beside his friend and gazed up at the majestic night sky. Above their heads, the Milky Way spilled its sparkling gems across the black velvet of the Southwestern night.

"Look at that, Jim!" Blair pointed towards a falling star, its fiery death etching an orange streak across the sky. "Did you see that?"

"Mmm. Yes," Jim's aged-honey voice dripped into the silence. "Beautiful, isn't it." Blair sighed deeply, warmth spreading through his limbs; his Sentinel had not been looking at the stars. "Connor was right, Chief. Flaming rocks *are* romantic."

Blair chuckled softly, looking up at his friend, whose eyes were luminous and compelling in the darkness, "Did you make a wish?"

"I made my wish long ago, Blair," Jim said seriously, "It's only just now coming true."

The soft night sounds, the deep velvet of the sky, the forest's tang teased Blair's senses. How much more intoxicating must it be for his Sentinel? He felt he'd waited his entire life for this moment; as if all the universe were bearing silent, majestic witness to his love for Jim. Leaning against Jim's shoulder, he sighed, "Do you feel it, Jim?"

"Yeah. I do," His partner agreed, wrapping an arm around Blair's waist, drawing him closer. "Ever since -- since you came back to me."

"Since I died, you mean?" Blair asked softly.

"Since you died," Jim agreed, sliding fingers along Blair's cheek, gently stroking.

"But it started way before then, didn't it?" Blair pressed, "It's been between us a long time." He turned and looked up at his companion, tracing lips and jaw with gentle fingers.

"It has. I just didn't know what it was." Jim gathered him close, drawing the blanket up and around his shoulders. "Didn't recognize the feeling at first."

"Me either. It didn't happen all at once,though," he agreed, shifting deeper into his friend's embrace. As if from a mountain spring hidden beneath a cracked boulder, peace seeped into him, filling his troubled soul with certainty.

"No. It was slow, gradual."

"Like cognac. Or a fire on a cold night. Something smooth and warm, comforting. With depth."

"That's what it feels like to me," his partner gazed out across the valley for a moment, then turned to look deeply into Blair's eyes. "Rich, like velvet." Jim's voice trembled with erotic harmonics.

"But it's here. It's always been here, Jim. Hasn't it?" Blair moaned softly as Jim's fingers sank into his hair, slowly caressing.

"Yes," Jim nodded, looking into his eyes, "It's always been here, from the very beginning."

"What do we do about it, Jim?"

Jim brushed his thumb gently across Blair's lower lip, slowly nuzzling his cheek with warm, soft lips. "What would you like to do about it, Blair?"

Strange. There was no courage needed for this moment. No anxiety, no fear. No more questions. Only a curious certainty and the undeniable reality of their shared love. "I want to love you forever."

"Forever?" His Sentinel searched his face. "You're that sure?"

"I'm that sure, Jim. Can you do forever with me?"

"I'll do my best, Blair" Jim whispered, forehead against his.

Intuitively, he understood the fear in Jim's voice; the ghosts of Carolyn and his failed marriage hung between them. "I've never even tried 'forever' before, Jim. But, we'll make it work. I promise."

"I believe you, Blair," Jim said quietly, banishing the past with his hopeful tone, "We'll have a lifetime to make forever come true."

"A second lifetime."

"A second chance, a second lifetime. Together." Jim's lips softly brushed his with the words. "Yes, Blair. I can do forever with you."

Jim's lips were warm, soft, his tongue gently probing. Blair parted his lips on a heartfelt sigh, inviting his lover's tongue to twine with his as Jim's fingers tangling in his hair. He slowly pulled Jim downwards until they lay side by side, warmly wrapped in the blanket and each other's arms. For a long time, they lay, exchanging slow, deep kisses and soft words of love. Exclamations from the crowd in the valley below drifted to their ears as the meteor shower reached its peak overhead, criss-crossing the sky with flaming strands of red and gold, weaving an elaborate, cosmic tapestry.

Sighing deeply, Blair pressed his face against Jim's neck, inhaling, imprinting his lover's scent and and enjoying the prickle of unshaven skin, "Jim?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

Blair smiled, warmed to his toes by the endearment. "Let's head back to the room," he continued quietly, "I want to make love."

Jim's lips curved against his cheek, "I thought you'd never ask."

*

****

Lazy K Ranch,  
Suite #105  
10:43 pm  


Jim followed his blanket-shrouded Guide into the darkened suite, body alive with the awareness of his new lover. Quietly closing the door, he paused mentally to savor that term. Accustomed to choosing a course and following through without question, nonetheless, Jim was surprised at the lack of conflict, the overwhelming rightness and ease of physically loving Blair.

"How about a fire?" he suggested, opening the chimney flue and stacking fire wood on the hearth.

"Sounds good, man. I'm frozen." Blair dragged several pillows off the sofa and went to the linen closet to fetch another blanket.

"Still?" Jim asked, amused, arranging the firewood and lighting the kindling. "Even after I gave you my sweatshirt?"

"Yes *still*," Blair grumbled. "And I *have* been thinking the right thoughts, dammit!"

"I know you have," Jim chuckled and went to close the drapes over the floor-to-ceiling picture windows on the northwestern wall. With the fire started, he kicked off his hiking boots and settled down in the nest of cushions Blair had created in front of the fire. "Come get some hot chocolate, Chief," he called, pulling a thermos from his pack and pouring a cup.

"You had hot chocolate the whole time and you didn't offer me any?" Blair asked indignantly, flopping down beside him and snuggling close. His took a sip and smiled blissfully.

"I was a little preoccupied," Jim protested wryly, "What with your tongue down my throat and all."

"Mmmm," Blair hummed, straddled Jim's hips and began nibbling on Jim's lower lip, "There is that minor fact, isn't there."

"Mmmm, yeah," he agreed, sliding his tongue along his lover's, the warm, spicy taste of his Guide mingling deliciously with the rich chocolate. When they finally broke apart Blair gasped breathlessly, "Whew! I've gotta rest for a minute. You've worn me out!" He leaned back, eyes half-lidded, arms looped around Jim's neck.

Jim smiled indulgently at his lover. If Blair's vitals were any indication, his Guide was waging a valiant battle between lust and exhaustion. Exhaustion was winning.

"Lie down and rest, sweetheart," he said softly, pulling Blair into his embrace and shifting them both down into the pile of cushions. Blair protested briefly but yielded, snuggling into Jim's side, head resting on his chest. Jim cradled his lover's warm, relaxed body and slowly stroked his fingers through the lush sable curls gilded by the flickering red and gold firelight.

A few minutes later, he was roused from a light zone by a loud 'pop' from the fireplace. He looked down at his peacefully sleeping Guide, eyelashes dark fans upon his fire-kissed cheeks. Jim chuckled to himself. As predicted earlier, Sandburg was, indeed, horizontal and asleep in under ten minutes.

"Come on, Blair," Jim gently shook his lover. "Time to for bed."

"Not yet, mom," his Guide snuggled back into the blankets, and what was likely a childhood memory of getting up for school. "Just a few more minutes."

"Sandburg, you're *really* out of it if you think *I* look like Naomi," Jim said wryly.

Blair opened bleary eyes, "Jim?"

Jim raised a single eyebrow eloquently.

"Oh man." His partner blushed. "I'm sorry. Did I fall asleep on you?"

"Yep. You're supposed to fall asleep *after* sex, Chief, not before."

Blair yawned and stretched, "You're not gonna let me live this one down, are you?"

"Not in this lifetime, Sleepyhead," Jim smiled fondly. "Now, go brush your teeth and get in bed."

"Are you gonna stay?" Blair rose, looking endearingly rumpled and transparently hopeful.

"I'll be back in a little while, okay?"

"Promise?" Jim found his arms suddenly full of a sleepy, edible anthropologist, with lush, kissable lips.

"I promise," he whispered, bending for one more brief taste of his best friend and new lover.

Thirty minutes later, he left the suite more than a little disheveled, wearing what was certainly a ridiculously silly, dazed grin. Two steps down the open hallway, he ran smack into a tall, beautiful woman dressed in tight jeans and striped t-shirt revealing impressive musculature and cleavage.

"So. You must be Jim," the red-head said bluntly, looking him up and down. Jim felt he'd been visually strafed. "Blair and Daryl mentioned you."

"Uh, yeah. Jim Ellison. That's me," he stammered, completely off-balance. "And you are?"

"Rob McAndrews. I work for IotaTech. Right next door, here in Suite #107." They shook hands, Rob's grip was as strong as his own.

"Ah. Nice to meet you, Rob. If you'll excuse me, I've got to head back to my room." Disoriented by their encounter, distracted by too-tight jeans and lustful thoughts of his Guide's strong, sexy body pressed against his, he turned and headed towards his room. His stiff-legged gait probably gave the whole game away.

"Oh Jim," Rob called softly.

"Yeah?" //What *now*?//

"You might want to fix your shirt and try to hide that, uh, mega-hickey on your neck."

Jim looked down at his inside-out, misbuttoned shirt and blushed crimson, mortified. "Oh god!"

"S'okay, Jim," Rob said comfortingly, "Love'll do that to ya."

"Yeah," he agreed sheepishly, "Guess so."

"Well, night Jim! Pleasant dreams." Rob's emerald eyes held a decidedly wicked gleam.

"Thanks, Rob. You too." Jim didn't bother to fix his shirt or try to hide the throbbing passion mark as he crossed the courtyard and fled to the relative safety of his room. If his behavior was any indication, love had not only completely rewired his brain, it had fried it.

*

****

Lazy K Ranch  
Suite #105  
Early Saturday morning, August 15  
6:17 am  


Clawing his way up from the comfortable abyss of sleep, Blair rolled over, seeking the missing warmth of his bedmate. His groping hand met empty space. Eyes still tightly closed, he groped further and further until he found himself unexpectedly airborne. His teeth clacked together unpleasantly as his bare posterior hit the chilly, tiled floor with a thump.

"Shhh!"

Baffled and disoriented, Blair stared up at his Sentinel, blinking owlishly in the dim, early morning light. Jim stood in the middle of the room stark naked, fingers pressed to his lips and head cocked to the side in his characteristic listening pose.

"Jim? What the *hell* are you doing?"

"Shhh!" His partner whispered more forcefully and stalked into the living room. Blair yawned, wiped sleep from his eyes and admired his partner's muscular backside. Even at 6 am, *some* parts of his anatomy were awake. Clambering off the floor, he bundled up in a striped blanket snagged from the foot of the bed and followed Jim into the living room. Once in the darkened room, Blair could hear muffled sounds of an argument from the IotaTech suite, next door.

"What the hell are those guys arguing about at 6 am?"

"That's what I'm *trying* to find out!" Jim leaned against the wall and listened intently. "Something about software piracy, a district attorney and -- encryption?"

Snatching a tumbler from atop the minibar, Blair crept over to his partner and raised the glass to the wall, meeting Jim's incredulous look. "What?" Blair said defensively, "Not *all* of us have sentinel hearing!"

A few minutes later, they both winced as the escalating argument ended abruptly with the *slam* of a door and the echo of rapid footsteps in the hallway.

"Rob sure sounded pissed, huh Jim?"

His partner stared at him silently, eyes narrowed, obviously trying to solve this mystery. "What do you know about software piracy, Sandburg?"

"Huh?" //It's six am and you wanna know about software piracy?//

"You brought your laptop and modem, right?"

"Uh, *yeah*?" //And your point is?//

"Chief, I need you to do a web search for me. On software piracy."

"Now?" Blair gaped at his partner. They stood, naked, alone, mostly awake, in a suite the size of Kanasas, with a Jacuzzi tub no less and Jim wanted to do a *web search*? Not hardly!

"Jim," he said in his most sultry voice, "Aren't there *other*, more *interesting* things we could be doing than listening at keyholes and running web searches?" Blair deliberately dropped the blanket.

"Hmm." Jim's cheeks pinked as his gaze traveled downward, coming to rest south of Blair's navel. "Well. I guess I see your, ah, *point*."

"Yeah," he chuckled, "I *thought* you might."

*

****

Lazy K Ranch  
The Stables  
9:45 am  


It was amazing how much the weather could reflect ones mood. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Whatever. Usually, Jim preferred the salt-scented air, the cool, bluish hues of the Northwest Pacific. But the crisp mountain air, the gold-tinged Southwestern morning sun, clear blue sky and fluffy white clouds all seemed to share his elation this morning. His boneless, sleepy Guide had made exceptionally tasty early-morning nibbling. Jim smiled fondly, glancing over at Blair. //Ellison, you've got it bad.// His lover was animatedly chatting with Megan and Rafe about the origin of the Appaloosa horse, of all things. How had one short, long-haired, *male* anthropologist transformed his life so completely?

"So, Jim," Simon walked over to him leading an ugly, aged beast that looked more like a mule than a horse, "Did you get a chance to see the meteor shower last night?"

"Yeah."

"I thought it was pretty interesting. Didn't you?" Simon pressed.

"Mmm hmm," Jim replied noncommittally.

"I didn't see you down at the meeting site," his boss continued, fishing shamelessly.

"I was there."

"You were, huh?" Simon chomped on the end of an unlit cigar.

"Mr. Ellison?"

Jim turned thankfully to the youthful ranch hand who was saddling his horse, "Yes? What is it?"

"You're an experienced horseman, right, sir?"

"Yeah." Interesting. The stableman's heartbeat was accelerating. "Why?"

"Well, 'Panache' here can be a bit, uh, *frisky* sometimes."

"Frisky?" Jim narrowed his eyes, suddenly suspicious. "'Frisky' just how, exactly?"

"Well, see...actually, it's kind of funny, really."

"Funny *how*?" Jim growled. He had a bad feeling about this alleged 'friskiness'.

"Well, um, sometimes, I don't think he realizes that he's actually a gelding, if you know what I mean."

Jim looked briefly skyward. //Why me?// And it had started out such a nice day. With a resigned sigh, Jim glared at 'Panache', heaved himself into the saddle and rode out to meet the rest of the already mounted gang.

"So." Blair said brightly, sitting astride a chestnut mare, unimaginatively named 'Chestnut'. "You guys ready to hit the trails?"

"You betcha, Sandy," Connor agreed, wheeling her horse. "Go you good thing!" she cried suddenly, startling them all, galloping out of the stable yard. A puzzled split second later, Sandburg, Rafe, Daryl and the rest of the gang pounded down the trail, hot on her heels. Everyone, with the exception of Simon, who stared at the retreating group in dismay.

"Simon? What's the matter?" Jim called over his shoulder, "Let's go!"

"Am *I* the only one here who doesn't know how to ride a horse?" Simon asked plaintively.

*

****

Office of the District Attorney  
Albuquerque, NM  
10:00 am  


Ben sat nervously at the wooden table next to his lawyer, Michael Preston, with his partners behind him. Leslie was characteristically quiet and stone-faced. Red seemed chastened, his usual obnoxious, arrogant attitude was absent. Rob looked even more pissed than usual, if that were humanly possible.

The reality of his actions, his sheer stupidity, was reinforced and magnified by these intimidating, legal surroundings. Shelves and shelves of legal tomes stared down at him in the richly paneled room, accusing him, rightfully, of arrogance and idiocy.

The three federal agents, Special Agents Richard Waters, Alexander Toomis and Mark Telford sat stiffly opposite him as the DA paced the room. The two Assistant District Attorneys, Linda Reynolds and Richard Pearson, watched Ben's team watch their boss pace, the expressions hostile.

"So, Mr. Preston, your clients are here today to offer information regarding Canton Winston Charrington, a man wanted internationally for securities fraud and industrial espionage."

"That is correct, Mr. Wilson," His lawyer addressed District Attorney Marcus Wilson.

"And you want the state of New Mexico and the Federal government to simply 'look the other way' regarding some serious crimes your clients have committed."

"Correct."

"What makes you think this information is so valuable to us, Mr. Preston."

Special Agent Waters stood and spoke for the first time, "Mr. Wilson. The U.S. government, not to mention other world governments, has been after Mr. Charrington for a number of years."

Toomis plunked a file folder down on the table, "This is only one of many files we have on Mr. Charrington."

"Canton Winston Charrington," Toomis read, "38 years old. Oxford educated. Harvard JD/MBA. Was a successful securities whiz kid with Lancing and Sterling, Ltd. in Singapore until he over played his hand in late 1993 to the tune of 48 million pounds. He escaped to Malaysia in 1994, with over 70 million pounds in offshore accounts and embezzled funds."

"Near as we can tell," Waters continued, "he set up his main operation there and has been dealing in 'hard to get' items ever since. Endangered species, rare gems, antiquities and art, and most recently, corporate intelligence and hard-to-obtain software, music and entertainment products."

"The FBI has worked to get close to Mr. Charrington for several years now, following the theft of some sensitive biotechnology. Fundamentally, we want this guy. IotaTech can get him for us." Telford concluded firmly.

"And the FBI is willing to just ignore the federal, not to mention the state crimes they've committed in order to get this man?"

"In exchange for this unprecedented opportunity, yes," the agents agreed.

"Well, the State of New Mexico is *not*."

Ben suppressed his frustration and let his lawyer do the talking. If the FBI was amenable, what was the damn problem here? They'd been screwing around with the District Attorney's office for weeks now. The Feds were fine, the D.A. wanted concessions. Well, he wasn't going to get them.

Wilson's statement precipitated yet another hour of what Rob fondly called 'macho dick waving' and convoluted legalese.

"Fundamentally Mr. Wilson, despite their admissions of wrong doing, you have no independent, corroborating evidence that my clients have committed any crime whatsoever. I'd *especially* suggest that you not look such a gift horse in the mouth during an election year." Preston paused significantly. "Why go after my clients when what you really want is to put Mr. Charrington and his organization out of business?"

Wilson and the FBI Agents glared at one another.

"Gentlemen, my clients are willing to arrange a meeting with this organization in exchange for immunity from prosecution and economic damage." Preston stated firmly. "If you are not interested, then our business is concluded."

After a lengthy, heated, whispered discussion with the FBI Agents, a chastened Wilson finally agreed to the terms.

"Very well, let's set up this sting, shall we gentlemen? And lady." Waters appended hastily, when Rob cleared her throat loudly.

Another ninty minutes passed before they'd decided upon the rough mechanics of the operation. Ben's nervousness morphed rapidly into frustrated boredom.

"My clients will go forth with the revised meeting plan and meet with Charrington in the abandoned mining town of Coopersville, just outside of San Ysidro. They will exchange the software technology with his organization and leave the area. Your agents will move in when my clients have left the area and apprehend the suspects."

The attorneys and agents haggled over more details and concluded the meeting.

"Mr. Wilson, Special Agents Waters and Toomis draw up the legal agreements. I'll look over them and we'll finalize the agreement tomorrow morning. Special Agent Waters, my clients will meet with you in the afternoon to finalze the details of the sting operation. Is this amenable to you all."

As the the Feds and the Assistant DA actually agreed. Rob, Red, Leslie and he looked at one another in bleary-eyed. At two o'clock, they left the office, draft agreements in hand. Could it possibly be this easy?

*

****

Lazy K Ranch  
Somewhere along the trail  


Riding along the dusty trail behind his partner, Jim admired the way the sun filtered through the trees, dappling his lover's cheeks and hair. Blair's dark blue eyes sparkled as he laughed one of Brown's jokes, lips curving into a delicious, sexy bow. Sandburg noticed his attention and smiled wickedly, just a tip of pink tongue slipping out to wet his full lower lip. Jim shifted uncomfortably in the saddle as his jeans grew tight: the little imp was teasing him. Regardless, the entire day would be perfect if his demon-spawn of a horse weren't hell bent on humping Sandburg's mare. Goddammed gelding who thought he was a stallion.

"'Little Stogie' rides again, eh Jim?" Brown asked.

Jim laughed shortly, "Yeah, well, 'Little Stogie' wasn't a gelding."

Megan raised an eyebrow, "Well your horse -- 'Panache' is it? -- sure doesn't think he's a gelding either, Jim."

"No kidding, man," Brown agreed, "The way 'Panache' keeps sniffing around Sandburg's mare, I'd say no one's gotten around to informing he's, uh, out of the game, so to speak."

"Do you think horses can catch their riders' 'vibes', Jim?" Megan asked innocently, seemingly apropos of nothing.

Jim turned in the saddle and glared. If looks could kill, Connor would be six feet under in an unmarked grave sans daisys.

"Having a good time, Simon?" he asked, deliberately changing the subject. Simon, sitting stiffly in the saddle, looked no more comfortable now than he had an hour earlier.

"No, *Ellison*, I am *not* having a good time," Simon's look was eloquent. "Does it *look* like I'm having a good time?"

"Relax, Simon," Megan counseled, "If you relax and go with the movement of the horse, you'd be more comfortable."

"Thanks for the public service tip, Connor," Simon said gruffly, gritting his teeth. "Sandburg, what the hell are you humming now?"

Blair, who'd been humming merrily, looked over and smiled like sunrise, "The theme from the 'Magnificent Seven', Simon."

"The 'Magnificent Seven'?"

Blair nodded happily.

"As in the movie?"

Another nod.

"Why, may I ask?"

"Well, just look at us, Simon," Blair indicated the group with a sweep of his arm. "Here we are, the Major Crimes 'posse'. Mounted on horseback, galloping through the Southwestern countryside -- the wild, wild west -- ready to right wrongs, defend the innocent and fight for truth, justice and the American way!" His enthusiastic and effusive description drew laughs from the rest of the gang.

"Right wrongs? American Way? Wild, wild west?" Simon shook his head. "Sandburg," he said patiently, as if to a dim witted child, "Not only are there *eight* of us, but there's a strip mall less than ten miles from here, complete with a Starbucks, a Burger King and a WalMart."

Blair's crestfallen expression was priceless. With a loud 'huff', he kicked his horse into a trot and rode away from Simon, muttering about 'stodgy old police captains with no imagination' under his breath. The assembled crew broke up into hysterics.

"Way to mend fences, Simon," Jim snickered, "I'll just bet you take candy from babies, too."

Simon threw up his hands in disgust.

*

They stopped for lunch in a sunlit glade near a stream teeming with trout. According to the trail map, there were some ruins and petroglyphs a short hike away. A brief but uneven battle was waged between Blair's scholarly interest and his libido. With Jim hovering in his personal space, thigh brushing his throughout lunch, scholasticism stood no chance.

"So, Jim," Blair murmured under his breath, stuffing a crumpled sandwich wrapper in his pack, "how about I make it up to you for last night?" It took less than ten fiercely whispered seconds to get Jim's undivided attention. Ten more minutes to extricate themselves from the group without arousing suspicion and another fifteen to hike far enough down the trail and into the woods so that no one could see or hear.

"You said something about 'making it up to me' for last night, Chief?"

"Yup," Blair agreed, pushing his surprised partner against a convenient boulder and attacking his button fly.

"Slow down, Sandburg!" Jim exclaimed as Blair yanked his jeans down around his ankles. "Haven't you ever heard of 'foreplay' before?"

Standing briefly on tiptoe, Blair ravished his partner's mouth and then attacked his boxers. "Jim," he said patiently, "Number one, foreplay? What foreplay? We're guys, remember?" Jim's boxers slid down to his ankles. "Number two, you don't look as if you really need much foreplay at the moment." He stroked the length of his lover's generous cock, eliciting a gasp followed by a plaintive moan as he gently fingered the warm balls. "Now dial up your hearing and make sure no one's around. I wanna suck you off!" He grinned wickedly.

"Jesus, Blair!" Jim gasped, clinging desperately to the lichen-covered boulder. "Hang on a second!"

Blair ignored his mate's protests and claimed his naked prize.

//Beefstick? Hell! Maggie had *no* idea!//

*

Hiking up the trail a few minutes behind Jim, to avoid suspicion, Blair could not wipe the idiotic grin from his face. James Ellison certainly believed in reciprocity in all things. What he lacked in experience, he damn sure made up for with enthusiasm. If Blair didn't wipe this grin off his face soon, he might as well hang a sign around his neck reading, "Just Fucked". 'Poker-faced Ellison' probably had no such problem.

"Have a nice hike?" Megan asked, strolling up the trail, swatting at branches with a long stick. Rafe was nowhere to be seen.

//Why is she smiling like that?// "Uh, yeah?"

"Did you see the petroglyphs? Beautiful, eh?"

"Uh, yeah?" //Okay, Sandburg, you don't sound *too* much like a complete moron.// Unfortunately, his brains had leaked out of his, uh, ears into a puddle of goo a few miles back.

"By the way, Sandy," Megan said sweetly, "You have pine needles stuck in your hair."

Blair brushed at his hair frantically.

"I didn't realize there were any mountain lions in the area."

"Huh?"

"You look as if you've been mauled by a wild cat."

"Shit!" //Thanks *so* much for the hickeys, Ellison!//

Megan smiled knowingly and patted his flaming cheek, "Don't worry, Sandy. I think you and Jimbo make a *cute* couple!"

*

****

Lazy K Ranch  
Barbecue  
Later that Night  


Despite the slight evening chill, there were a number of guests in the heated pool and Jacuzzi. Others milled about near the large buffet tables set up on the grass, chatting softly. The dying sun painted the nearby mountains purple and gold and soft strains of Spanish guitar music wafted through the evening air, mingling with the wonderful scent of barbecued chicken and ribs.

Simon leaned against the wrought-iron pool enclosure, strawberry margarita in hand, smiling at the sight of his detectives mixing with the exclusive crowd. Imagine: movie stars, pop singers, New Age gurus and artists mingling with a bunch of battle-scarred city cops. To top it off, it seemed as if they'd all stumbled into some bizarre Sandburg-esque vortex of romance. There were Rafe and Connor cozied up in the Jacuzzi, giggling over champagne flutes like honeymooners. Newly-divorced Joel had gotten over his dating jitters and was talking a blue streak with Maria Sanchez. Brown was slow dancing with Marcia and even his son was trailing around after some red-headed amazon. And, personally, he was more than enjoying the company of his new friend Elena Mitchell. To hell with the 'Love Boat' -- this was the Love Ranch! If Sandburg weren't so busy playing 'professor' to bevy of doe-eyed 'school-girls' -- with Ellison lurking jealously in the background, as usual -- he'd probably have some convoluted scientific explanation for it all.

"Hey Simon, enjoying the party?" Joel came up beside him carrying some bizarre blue drink and leaned on the fence.

"Yeah, Joel. If I weren't so damn stiff and sore from that trail ride, I'd be having and even *better* time. You appear to be having quite a good time yourself."

"Yeah. You guys were right. 'Just be yourself'," Joel smiled happily. "So where's Elena?"

"She had to take care of something in the office." Simon couldn't hold back a smile. "Said she'll be back in a little while."

Joel chuckled, "Going well, I take it?"

"Oh yeah," Simon agreed. "For once, Sandburg's matchmaking didn't end in disaster."

"Speaking of Sandburg. What's the story with Jim and Blair?"

"Story? What story?" Simon chuckled, feigning innocence.

"You haven't noticed them?" Joel laughed, "The looks. The pranks. Them playing *footsie* in the van, for godsake. If those two generate any more heat, they'll spontaneously combust!"

"Oh. *That* story!" Simon laughed. "*That*, my friend, is called 'True Love', with a capital 'T' and a capital 'L'."

"Love? You're kidding." Joel looked surprised, "You think?"

"Yup," Simon nodded sagely, "True love. Never seen truer."

"I didn't think Jim swung that way," Joel mused. "For that matter, I didn't know Blair did, either. The kid doesn't just *chase* hordes of women, he *catches* them. And from the smiles on their faces the next day, he delivers the goods."

"Don't think any of that matters in the slightest, Joel," Simon shrugged. "Cupid had'em in his cross-hairs and nailed'em both with the 'Arrow of Luv'." He mimed nocking and drawing a bow, releasing it with a 'twang'. They both laughed at the image. "I always wondered if this was going to happen," Simon continued. "Blair crawled under Jim's skin from Day One. One puppy-dog look from Sandburg and tough-guy Ellison turns into a big, fluffy marshmallow. I don't think Jim ever knew what hit him."

"Jim and Blair. Friends, yes. Partners, yes. Lovers?" Joel shook his head. "Well, stranger things have been known to happen."

"Yeah. Like a bomb-squad Captain getting together with an international artist, perhaps?"

"Exactly," Joel beamed. "Or, a police Captain getting together with a wealthy ranch owner. Anyway, Simon what are you going to do about Jim and Blair?"

"Do? What *can* I do, Joel?" Simon shrugged unconcerned, "Not only are they joined at the hip, but after all these years of saying, 'Sandburg, you're *not* a cop', do you really think I could break up their partnership because they've gone and fallen in love?" Simon mused rhetorically.

"Hmm. You do have a point."

"If Jim keeps up his arrest and conviction record *and* the two of them can manage to not ravish each other in the bullpen, I can look the other way," Simon concluded. "Besides, since Blair showed up, Jim is down right tractable *and* his paperwork gets done on time. I'll be damned if I'm gonna give up the new, mellow, post-Sandburg Ellison any sooner than I have to."

Joel laughed knowingly.

"Simon!" He turned as Elena walked over to him. Leather jeans and a tight suede blouse accentuating her lush form. "I'm glad I finally caught up to you! Still interested in that tour of the Lazy K wine cellars?"

"The 90s equivalent of 'etchings', Simon?" Joel whispered, raising an eyebrow.

"Sounds quite interesting, Elena," he grinned. "Lead on!"

*

Deeply embroiled in a frustrating argument with Daryl Banks, Jim found himself fervently thankful that he didn't have any kids. Especially teenagers.

"I can't believe you actually *told* her," Daryl said shaking his head with disgust.

"Daryl! What exactly did you want me to do? Your father would've killed her, then me, then *you* if anything had happened between the two of you. Regardless, lying about your age wasn't fair to her. As it was, things went too far."

"It was just a kiss!" Arms crossed over his chest, Daryl glared darkly at him with the outrage of thwarted teen hormones. Just a kiss? Daryl was a better bullshit artist than his partner. Jim cast his eyes skyward. Kids!

"Daryl, look. I was sixteen too, once. I remember the allure of the 'older woman' --"

"Blair told you, didn't he?" Daryl asked, sounding betrayed.

"No, Sandburg didn't tell me. It wasn't hard to put two and two together, Daryl. I'm a *detective* for godsakes!" Sandburg *should* have stepped in. Jim made a mental note to 'talk' to his partner about this little lapse in judgement.

"But Jim, you don't understand --"

"No, Daryl. Actually, I *do* understand," he interrupted, "and *this* was a very bad idea. Rob is thirty years old. And you're *sixteen*!"

Daryl wasn't buying it, "So this is all for 'my own good', huh?"

*God* but this was unpleasant. "Ultimately, yes."

Another dark glare and Daryl stalked off, muttering imprecations under his breath. So much for his cache of Cool-Friend-Of-My-Dad's points.

Twenty minutes later, Jim wandered through the party goers, nibbling ribs and sampling the excellent local brews. From across the pool, Jim followed Blair with his eyes. Sandburg was doing two of the many things he did best -- flirting and lecturing. Jim smiled, pleased by the healthy flush in his lover's once pale cheeks. Watching Blair's graceful movements, his minor irritation about Daryl evaporated. At the moment, his Guide held the rapt attention a small circle of men and women as he described archaeological excavation techniques, punctuating his comments with his usual enthusiastic hand gestures. Instead of jealousy, Jim found himself warming with pride, arousal and amazement mixed in equal parts. Of all the beautiful women and men -- movie stars, famous authors and millionaires -- who'd flirted with his Guide tonight, Jim was the sole recipient of Blair Sandburg's love.

Crossing the patio, he dialed up his senses, filtering out the harsh chemical tang of chlorine, the laughter and conversation, centering on vital signs he knew nearly better than his own. He heard the spike of his lover's heartbeat as their eyes met and smelled the subtle, distinctively spicy scent of his Guide's pheromones that arose in response.

"Almost finished here tonight, Professor?" Jim asked softly, leaning close to Blair's ear. Blair smiled up at him, eyes alight, "I'll join you in a moment."

A few minutes later, Blair joined him in the near-empty courtyard, near the chuckling fountain. They stood for a moment, nearly touching, under the benevolent starlight summer sky.

"You up for another meteor watch?" Blair's voice was husky and suggestive. "Or, perhaps another romp in the woods?"

"I have something different in mind," Jim moved closer, tucking an errant curl behind his Guide's ear. Blair shivered. "I want to take you tonight, sweetheart."

His lover's response was immediate -- always so responsive. His heart rate increased, respiration quickened, sapphire eyes darkened to indigo. "Yes, let's go," he agreed, voice smoky with desire and promise.

*

Once inside the suite, Jim pulled him into his arms, nibbling his lips, nuzzling his hair, caressing his body with long, gentle fingers. "Ah, Blair," Jim whispered, breath hot against his cheek, "I want you so much."

"Then take me," Blair shivered, surrendering as passion swept through him, limbs tingling in the wake of its passage. He relished his lover's electric caresses and the force of Jim's dark, heated gaze, nearly palpable against his skin.

Jim undressed him slowly, reverently, and Blair reciprocated, enjoying the glide of newly revealed skin against his fingertips. Closing his eyes briefly, Blair reveled in the unaccustomed feel of powerful arms holding, supporting him, the feel of his lover's naked flesh against his, evening beard lightly prickling his cheek, the firm, heated length of his lover's erection pressed against his thigh. Blair's kiss swallowed Jim's gasps and sighs as he ran hungry fingers over the sculpted, alabaster perfection of his lover's back and thighs. They parted after a deep, hungry kiss and smiling, Jim led him into the bedroom.

"Would you like a fire tonight?" Jim asked softly, fingertips brushing lightly down his spine. Blair nodded, capturing his lover's mouth for another slow, deep kiss. Drawing away reluctantly, he went to light the fat vanilla candles in terra cotta holders located throughout the room while Jim lit a fire on the hearth.

Lying naked on the huge bed, candles lit around the room, Blair looked up at his lover though half-lidded eyes.

Gloriously nude, Jim knelt between his outspread thighs, dancing firelight and shadows painting his fine-grained skin a tawny gold. Gentle fingers slowly stroked from the inside of Blair's ankles to his inner thighs. He shivered beneath his Sentinel's sweeping, proprietary gaze and commanding touch, every cell humming with expectancy.

Jim chuckled and stroked one long finger the length of Blair's cock, sliding along the head, spreading wetness. A delicious tremor coursed through Blair's body and he moaned softly in response.

With unconscious grace, Jim slowly lowered himself, resting full length between his spread legs, his lover's smooth, hard chest and belly against his own furred one. Closing his eyes, Blair tilted his head and parted his lips, welcoming the gift of Jim's incendiary kiss. His lover's tongue dove deep, sought and found the secret places that called forth Blair's soft, pleasured moans. Jim's smooth, sensitive skin trembled under his seeking finger tips and his lover groaned, inflamed, as Blair slowly, unbidden, undulated beneath his lover, hips cradling their heated cocks.

"Turn over, sweetheart," Jim whispered against his lips, rising up slightly. Blair smiled, stretched indulgently and turned onto his side, only to experience an unexpected nervousness. "Uh Jim, this is a maybe a bad time to ask, or maybe it's a good time to ask."

Jim spooned up behind him nuzzling his neck, one strong arm wrapping around his waist. "Ask what, sweetheart?" The endearment spoken so erotically, melted the fear that had pooled in his belly, replacing it with liquid fire.

"Do you know what you're, ah, doing here?" Blair gasped as Jim's erection pressed suggestively against his cleft. His lover's large warm hand gently tugged at his nipple ring, caressed his belly and swept downward to massage his aching cock.

"Mmm. Why don't you tell *me*?" Jim's powerfully muscled leg slid between his, bending his knee, moving his leg forward and exposing him. Feeling vulnerable, Blair trembled as a long finger, cool and slick, circled his anus and then slipped in completely. A flick against his prostate and he gasped sharply, "Jim!"

A dark, sensual chuckle, "Like that, love?"

"Oh! Yes!" The massage continued and it was soon difficult to form words through the growing haze of pleasure that tangled his tongue, loosened his limbs and stained his vision crimson and indigo. "*How* do you know what you're doing?"

"*Research*, sweetheart," Jim's soft chuckle caressed his ears, "Now relax and let me love you."

Awash in sensation, Blair lay quietly, as his lover carefully prepared him, slick fingers dancing, sensuous and inflammatory, deep within. Watching the flames' cryptic patterns dance across the adobe walls, he felt his sumptuous physical dilation echoed by the unexpected expansion of his heart. So long since he'd allowed anyone this intimacy, since he'd yielded control, allowd someone care for him, pleasure him so completely. So long since he'd placed his heart, his trust, fragile and trembling, within another's hands.

"I love you, Blair," His lover's soft words preceded a sharp, stinging pain and then a luxurious sensation of fullness and completion. Blue-white electricity sparkled along his nerves as Jim moved deeper within him. Behind his closed eyes, he could see the glittering stars overhead, the red and gold streaks that had witnessed their forever pledge. For a moment, rich jungle sounds and smells teased his senses and he caught the flash of a stone temple. Then, his mind spun away, fragmenting under the assault of powerful yet gentle caresses, a warm, surprisingly confident hand on his cock, frenzied kisses along his neck, long fingers tangled in his hair. His lover's living flesh drove deep within him overwhelming reason. A sudden bubbling over of affection, love and laughter and he was filled with his lover's passion. His own spilled hot and thick within Jim's loving hand. Their commingled cries were sharp and joyful in the night.

Later, they lay together, the fire burned to embers, the candles burning low, wrapped in the lush, aromatic scents of pine, cedar, vanilla and their lovemaking. Exchanging slow tender kisses and caresses, they quietly reaffirmed their pledge.

"Forever, Blair?" Head tucked under Jim's chin, Blair felt the question rumble through him.

"Yes, Jim. Forever," he sighed, slipping towards oblivion safe and cherished within his lover's trusted embrace.

*

****

Lazy K Ranch  
Sunday, August 16  
5:35 am  


"Nothing better'n a morning spent fishing, huh Jim?" Simon's voice broke the early morning silence, startling him. Hat pulled down, eyes scanning the dark waters for fish, his partner grunted assent.

Blair stifled a yawn. 5 am was *way* early for anything on vacation except for sleepy, slow motion sex. Marvelous sex, in a nice soft bed, in a nice warm room, followed by a long soak in a nice hot Jacuzzi, and a nice hearty room-service breakfast. Blair sighed miserably. //The things we do for love.//

As much as he enjoyed fishing, there were any number of things more pleasant than standing on the bank of a river at the crack of dawn after decadent night of passion. No few number of them featured one James Joseph Ellison on his hands and knees with his oh-so gorgeous, muscular ass in the air. Daryl's petulant expression suggested discontent as well. He was also probably still pissed at Jim for ratting him out to Rob.

"Having a good time, Sandburg?" Simon was disgustingly perky this morning. 'Perky' was all the way frightening in a six foot four, two hundred fifty pound, cigar-chomping cop.

Blair grunted noncommittally, sparing a glare for his partner.

"Why don't you sit down, take a load off?" Simon suggested, "Easier to catch fish that way." Was there an evil gleam in his eye?

"I'm just fine. Thanks." Bringing his sore hindquarters into contact with the hard, damp ground was an event he intended to delay as long as possible. Yes indeed, Jim had proven quite conclusively last night that he knew *exactly* what he was doing. Research indeed.

"Sore from the trail ride yesterday?"

//Something like that.// "Uh, yeah. A little."

"Can't figure why the rest of the gang didn't want to join us this morning," Simon shook his head, pulling his fishing hat down over his eyes and baiting another hook. "The fresh air! The sunshine! The excellent fishing spots! In a couple of hours, we can hike up to this other little spot that Elena said is chock full of trout!"

Blair and Daryl exchanged long suffering glances.

After an hour of standing, the ache in his knees finally forced his sore butt in contact with the ground. The next twenty minutes were spent shifting from cheek to cheek. Could this day get any more unpleasant? Catching Jim's eye, he muttered, "James Ellison, you are dead meat."

His infuriatingly smug partner merely smiled.

*

****

Lazy K Ranch  
Reception Lobby  
6:45 pm  


Jim relaxed on one of the large leather couches in the lobby and idly flipped through the latest issue of 'Santa Fe' magazine. He shook his head over the slick pages replete with fancy homes, expensive jewelry, and impossibly beautiful models. Despite the opulence of his upbringing, at heart, he was a 'beer and pretzels' kinda guy. Not 'no frills', just a few selected frills. A nice TV, stereo, occasional dinners at good restaurants, a jazz club now and again. Hiking, camping, fishing, surfing, spending time with his garrulous, sensual partner. Nothing extreme or outrageous. The finer things in life. Imported Italian floor tiles at $150 a whack weren't even in the same league.

Sandburg had yet to appear for their dinner date. He was probably still pissed about their fishing trip. Jim smiled, remembering. Not only had they *not* caught any fish, but Simon's map reading skills rivaled Blair's. They'd hiked for 4 hours in the wrong direction, scouring the countryside for a non-existent trout stream. To top it all off, Sandburg slipped on some river rocks on the way back and wound up neck deep in water and knee deep in mud. He'd had to hike the four miles back to the Ranch in soggy, mud encrusted jeans and boots, thoroughly unamused by Simon and Daryl's 'Baby Sasquatch' jokes. Jim had privately concluded that any excursion involving him, Simon, Blair and a national forest was thoroughly cursed.

Ten minutes later, a cleaner, dryer, significantly less woebegone Blair entered the lobby and flopped down beside him on the couch with a loud sigh.

"Well," Jim cocked his head, smiling at his companion, "You at least *smell* better than you did an hour ago."

His partner glared up at him darkly, "Yeah, no thanks to *you*."

"Hey," he protested mildly, "it wasn't *my* fault you slipped on those rocks."

"No, not all," Blair agreed sarcastically. "It especially *wasn't* your fault that your *hand* just reached out and grabbed my -- "

"-- perfectly wonderful, tempting, luscious *ass*!" Jim interrupted, smiling amiably at the surprised expression on his lover's face.

"Right," Blair struggled valiantly to maintain a stern expression, "If you hadn't grabbed my tempting, wonderful ass, I wouldn't have jumped, slipped and wound up chin deep in muck. And *then* had to hike back to civilization looking like some kinda swamp creature."

They stared at one another for a moment, then laughed.

"I half expected you to pull a trout out of your pants, like you did with that lizard," Jim snickered.

"Yeah," Blair smiled smugly. "I could tell you were dying to see what *else* was in my pants that day."

"Was not," he protested, crossing his arms and shaking his head.

"Were. Too." Blair said emphatically, leaning towards him.

"Okay, okay," he admitted after a pause, "So maybe I was."

"Ah *ha*!" Blair crowed triumphantly, poking his ribs; his Guide had developed this annoying 'rib-poking' habit. "I knew it, man! I knew it! I could tell by the look on your face!"

"Knew what, Hairboy?" Brown asked, sitting down next to Blair.

"Yeah, knew what?" Rafe leaned over the back of the couch looking back and forth between them.

"Uh -- ," Red-faced and stammering, Blair's expression was vintage 'deer in headlights'.

"Nothing, guys, just a joke," Jim cut in smoothly, rescuing his partner. "What's up? Have a good time with the ladies today?"

"Yes," They chorused, faces wearing identical poleaxed, dopey expressions. Jim suspected that he'd worn that look a time or two over the past few days as well. The endorphin and hormone rush of 'New Love'.

"Will ya look at *that*!" Blair, who had regained his composure, turned in his seat and whistled, pointing at the latest arrivals. "We've got an 'Al Gore' convention in the lobby!"

Three tall men stood uncomfortably in the lobby, dressed in dark suits, white shirts and red ties.

"No kidding," Rafe agreed in between chuckles. "Those guys have *gotta* be Feds."

"Or IBM salesmen," his lover chuckled, though the discreet shoulder and ankle holsters and cant of their bodies contradicted that notion. Not to mention the scent of gun oil and powder residue carried on the breeze from the open windows.

"What are a bunch of Feds are doing here in paradise?" Brown wondered aloud.

"Who *cares*?" Rafe said dismissively, "We're on *vacation* at a resort masquerading as a dude ranch! Let's go eat some *ribs*!"

As they headed towards the dining room, Jim glanced back over his shoulder and stopped Blair with a hand on his arm. Intrigued, they watched as Rob McAndrews, Ben Mitchell and their other IotaTech partners quietly greeted the agents. The tension in their bodies and voices was evident.

"What the heck are Rob and Ben doing with a bunch of FBI agents?" Blair asked.

Did Elena know about this? "Something doesn't seem right about this, Chief," Jim frowned, "Let's go talk to Rob after dinner."

*

****

IotaTech Headquarters  
Lazy K Ranch, Suite #107  
9:45 pm  


After the meeting with Special Agents Waters, Toomis and Telford, everyone was subdued. They'd all consumed lots of pizza and beer, but had spoken very little. Despite the late hour, he, Rob, Red and Leslie were all nervously huddled over their respective keyboards, too keyed up to go to go home and sleep and worried enough about their upcoming 'sting' operation to feel that there was safety in numbers. Even if said numbers were pissed off at each other. Their friendship's bonds dangerously strained, but not fully snapped.

A loud knock at the door startled them all.

Rob opened to door to reveal the two guys who where staying in the suite next door. "Hey! Blair! Jim! What's up guys?"

"Ah, the honeymoon duo emerges from their den of iniquity," Red sneered, looking up from his keyboard. "Which one of you is the screamer?"

"Can it, Red," Rob said sharply, obviously hoping to stave off disaster. Ellison looked about ready to pile drive the obnoxious engineer. Given Rob's glare, he'd have to take a number.

"Heya Rob, everyone," Blair said a bit sheepishly. "You guys are working late tonight, huh?"

He'd met Blair Sandburg, winner of the raffle prize his mother had sponsored, and his friend Daryl earlier in the week. He'd only glimpsed Jim Ellison, though. Tall and stoic, usually hovering somewhere near Sandburg, he'd seen enough of the detective to recognize a sharp gaze that missed little. He'd gotten to know Daryl, of course, since he was hopelessly infatuated with Rob *and* was the son of his mother's latest love interest, Simon Banks, a police captain, of all things. What a tangle.

"Uh, yeah, we were. Come on in." Rob ushered Blair and Jim into the room and introduced them.

Following the introductions, Ellison stepped forward, "I realize that it's late and that you all have work to do, but, we really need to talk."

"What's up, guys?" Rob asked, puzzled, "Here, pull up a chair, why don't you?" She gestured towards the conference table in the corner alcove.

Once settled around the table, Jim spoke first, calmly and methodically outlining their suspicions and their evidence. Were they indeed engaged in organized software piracy? Were they indeed selling munitions to foreign countries? And so on.

Unlike Red and Leslie, Ben was only somewhat surprised. If his team could hear the enthusiastic goings on next door, it stood to reason that it went both ways. Somehow, however, with just a few overheard conversations and observing their team in action during one of Rob's tours, Sandburg and Ellison had managed to piece together most of their sordid story. Ben was impressed. It was now clear why, according to Daryl, Ellison had been named Cascade's 'Detective of the Year'. The too-public meeting with the Feds in the lobby this evening probably hadn't helped.

"So. You've been *spying* on us?" Red sputtered, predictably outraged.

"Calm down, Red," Leslie said, always the voice of reason. "Blair and Jim are cops. It probably wasn't that hard to put two and two together. What exactly do you want, Detective Ellison?" he asked carefully.

"We only want to understand," Blair said softly, sincerely. "And possibly, to help."

His partners all looked at him, now. He, the ethical and moral failure who'd brought them all to this miserable thicket of crime and intrigue. His lawyers and the Federal agents had counseled him to speak to no one. However, though he didn't know what good it would do, whether it was foolish or not, for some reason, he felt the need to confess.

"Okay. What I'm about to say cannot leave this room," he said heavily, shaking his head. "Here's the deal..."

*

****

10:38 pm  
The Garden  


After bidding the IotaTech crew good night and good luck, he and Jim left the suite, crossed the courtyard and walked through the softly lit garden. The aroma of desert flowers filled the air, wafting from night blooming plants, cacti and the large flowering vines that crawled along the painted trellis overhead. Around the glade, a few other couples were seated on wrought iron benches, making out or talking quietly.

"So. What do you think?" Blair asked his partner with trepidation, sitting cross-legged on the grass beneath a flower-festooned tree with leafy, spreading branches. Jim's expression was grim and worried.

"Of their plan? I think that what they're doing is incredibly dangerous," His partner said seriously, sitting beside him, arms around his knees. "If the Feds screw this up, it could get them all killed."

Blair leaned his head against Jim's shoulder, worried about his new friends. The plan that Ben had outlined seemed fragile and dangerous. "Yeah. I was afraid of that, too."

"I don't know how these Feds got their superiors to agree to it. There's no way of effectively securing a location like Ben and Red described." Jim wrapped an arm around his shoulder and twirled a lock of his hair. Blair moved closer, lacing their fingers on Jim's thigh. "Meeting an international criminal in a *ghost* town, Blair? What the hell were these guys *thinking*? Dilapidated buildings and abandoned equipment? Far too many places to hide and no way of accurately knowing if Charrington's goons have the place already staked out. They could be walking into a death trap."

Ear against his lover's chest, Blair listened the slightly elevated heart beat, remembering all too well the Major Crime's stake outs and sting operations that had gone bad. Another thought struck him and he changed the subject abruptly. "Would you have turned yourself in, Jim?"

Warm lips briefly kissed his temple, "Blair, I don't understand all the implications of software piracy law or the whole encryption thing they were talking about. But, this kind of stuff *always* comes out eventually. Eventually, they all would have been caught and the penalties would have been much more severe."

"Yeah. You're right," Blair nodded. "I guess I wonder what *I* would have done, you know? Would I have tried to hide it all? Or would *I* have had the courage that Rob and Leslie had?"

"Of course you would have had the courage, sweetheart," Jim nuzzled his cheek softly. Blair tingled again at the endearment.

"Look, I know you're worried about these guys," Jim said, following his thoughts. "I'll make you a deal. On Wednesday morning, we'll go out on a trail ride, not too far from Coopersville. Make sure that, just in case something bad goes down, there's some extra back up. Okay?"

Blair nodded and looked into his lover's eyes. The sexy smile curving Jim's lips made him shiver, "Okay."

"Let's head back to the room. Before we create any more of a scene." Blair let the warm promise in his friend's voice wash over him, igniting the inevitable flare of desire.

*

****

Lazy K Ranch  
Monday, August 17  
Suite #109  
12:22 pm  


They'd spent the morning in bed. And on the fluffy sheepskin rug in front of the fireplace. And in the media room, and in the Jacuzzi, and in the shower. And, Jim admitted with a certain sheepish amazement, leaving numerous butt-prints on the cool, slick glass of the dining room table. Thank god it was sturdier than it looked. If it weren't for the undeniable evidence of his thinning hair, Jim could almost believe he was sixteen again. They were definitely going to miss the tour of the native ruins with Joel and Maria if they didn't manage to chisel themselves apart and get dressed.

At the moment, he lay flat on his back in bed with Sandburg sprawled on his chest, chin resting on crossed arms, hair disheveled and eyes bright. The word 'afterglow' simply wasn't in his lover's extensive vocabulary. Thus far, he appeared to have three post-sex states: 'Unconscious', 'Let's ponder the mysteries of the cosmos' and 'Let's do it again, babe!'. Jim was rather fond of the third and had a certain appreciation for the first. Although Blair was an unrepentant bed-hog, watching his Guide sleep comfortably, nightmare-free at last, was a rare pleasure. Besides, Jim could enjoy the afterglow himself, in peace. Pondering the mysteries of the cosmos wasn't high up on his list of things to do when vertical and clothed, let alone following on the heels of wild, sticky, animal love with his randy mate. Sandburg needed a few lessons in post-coital romance.

"So. Jim." Bounce.

He groaned inwardly; so much for 'Unconscious' and 'Let's do it again'. "Yes, Blair?"

"Wow! You actually used my name!"

"I always use your name."

"No. You usually call me 'Sandburg' or 'Chief' or some context derived nickname, like 'Darwin' or 'Shecky' or 'Einstein' or 'Guppy' or something. In the 'midst of passion', you've called me 'baby' and you've even called me 'sweetheart' a couple of times. Which I happen to *love*, by the way. But you rarely ever call me just 'Blair'."

Jim sighed, "Okay, 'Just-Blair', what is it?" He gasped as Blair bounced on his diaphragm again. "Will you cut that out, Sandburg?"

"So. Whaddaya think about this new woman H is hot for?"

"Marcia?" Jim chuckled, "She's cute and smart, Chief, but..."

"But what?"

"Well, I don't know exactly how to tell H, but --"

"But *what*?"

"But, *she's* actually a *'he'*."

"You're kidding me!" Blair whooped, bouncing again and Jim grunted, "Dammit, Sandburg, I'd like my ribs intact, here."

"Oops. Sorry. So 'she's' a 'he'? Ru-Paul, move over!" his Guide crowed, "Marcia is one amazing cross-dresser! How could you tell? She doesn't have an Adam's apple and her -- uh, his hands and feet don't look too large, and she's not super tall. Oh man!"

"Trust me, Chief," Jim said smugly, "the nose doesn't lie."

"You can *smell* that he's a man?" Blair leapt up on hands and knees, straddling him, narrowly missing Jim's nuts with his knee. "Shit! Watch it, Sandburg!"

Blair smacked himself in the head, "Well, *duh*! Of *course* you can smell he's a man. Sweat, pheromones..." Eyes narrowed in thought, he looked around frantically, "Wait a minute, I gotta write that down. Where the hell did you put my notebook last night."

"Some place you'll never find it, Professor. At least not until this trip's over," Jim said smugly, eyes roaming appreciatively over his lover's naked form, his body responding to the enticing sight. "Now, get back down here. I want to do some research of my own." To hell with Native ruins.

"Come on Jim, man, this is *important* here! It's incredible that you can tell this, just from scent alone. I don't know *why* I never thought of it before! How does it differ from a woman's scent? Body scent probably differs radically due to hormonal influences. I'll just bet you could tell if a woman's ovulating -- hey, that'd be pretty useful for dating, or..."

His Guide's excitement bubbled over him, bathing him in lush vibrations. Jim surrendered and went with the flow, enjoying the vibrant, merry sound, ignoring the words. Mid-sentence, Sandburg paused, "Hey! You're not listening to me, man. You're tuning me out here aren't you, Jim?"

Jim simply smiled beatifically. At least until the pillow caught him upside the head.

"Sandburg!" Jim shouted and proceeded to demonstrate the importance of strength, height and leverage in winning pillow fights.

His Guide was still balefully picking feathers out of his hair -- and other places -- two hours later on the trail, much to the amusement of Jim, Joel and Maria.

*

****

The Lazy K Ranch  
Outside Room #110  
Tuesday, August 18  
Early morning  


3:22 am and Henri Brown was feeling no pain. Several beers and a couple margaritas were sloshing around his blood stream. He was pleasantly warm from the attentions of his lovely friend Marcia and a few hours of dancing. Yep, he was feeling *just* fine. Looking forward to a few blissful hours of very sweet dreams. Until the door to his room rebounded with a loud slam against the security bar.

"What the hell?" He peered into the darkened space between the doorframe. "Rafe, open up the door. It's me, H."

Rustling, then, "Go away, man. I'm busy."

"Busy?" Henry said querulously, "Busy?! Brian Marion Rafe, if you don't open this friggin door right now..."

It was too dark to see into the room, but he could hear Rafe talking to someone, and an answering feminine chuckle. He recognized that laugh. Megan. Shit. Rafe and Connor finally going horizontal. In *his* room. At 3 o'clock in the friggin AM. What the hell? Megan had her own damn room!

"Aw, come on, guys. Give me a break. Take the party elsewhere. I wanna get some sleep."

"Sorry. No can do, H."

"Aw Rafe..." Henry rested his forehead against the door frame. "Where am I gonna sleep tonight?"

"Don't know, bro. Ask Sandburg. He's got that huge suite."

"But what about my stuff?" Henri didn't usually whine but it just seemed to come naturally tonight.

There was rustling, a thump, a muffled crash, feminine cursing, the sound of something sliding across the floor, then a wadded up ball of his clothes was pushed through the door.

"Night, H."

Slam.

"Shee-it. This sucks, Rafe. This really sucks."

A distinctly wicked feminine chuckle floated through the door.

"I'll make it up to you, man. Really."

"Yeah, right," Henri muttered, stalking down the tiled hallway, clothes, toothbrush and razor bundled in his arms. He crossed the courtyard to Blair's suite and banged on the door.

"Hey, Hairboy. Open up."

Henry listened, then banged again. There was a long pause, then a sleepy, "Go 'way, man. I'm sleeping."

"Come on, Blair. I'm begging you, open up. Rafe kicked me out."

Cursing, rustling, another long pause. Then the door opened to reveal a sleep-grizzled Sandburg, hair wild, cheeks scruffy, clad in rumpled boxers and an overlarge Cascade PD t-shirt worn inside out and backwards.

"It's 3 in the morning, Brown. What the hell do you want?"

"You gotta help me, Blair. Brian and Megan are going at it in our room and Rafe's kicked me out."

Sandburg looked unimpressed, "So?"

Henri was trying not to whine, but it was late, he was buzzed, exhausted and he really did want to get some sleep. "So, I've got nowhere to sleep. Can I crash on your floor tonight? I know you've got space..."

"What?" Blair seemed to awaken abruptly, "No. No, man you can *not* sleep here tonight."

"C'mon Blair. You've got that huge room with the fireplace and all. I figured I could just grab a couple of blankets, crash on the floor. I don't snore, I'll be quiet, I promise." He couldn't help but sound a little desperate. The idea of sleeping out on the porch tonight was anything but appealing. August be damned, it was *cold* outside.

Sandburg turned to look back in the room and Henri could hear someone else talking to Blair quietly. //Shit. Sandburg got lucky, too. No wonder he doesn't want me to stay. Why me, God? I just wanna get some sleep?// Henri groaned inwardly, leaned against the door frame and waited hopelessly.

Blair caught something thrown to him from the darkness and turned back to Brown. "Look, H. You can use Jim's room. Number 125. Here's the key, okay?"

Slam.

Twice in one night.

"What? Sure. Okay! Thanks!" Henri said to the closed door. "Great. Jim's room. He won't mind." Brown paused, "He won't mind? Who am I kidding? Of *course* he'll mind."

The alcohol and lack of sleep caught up with him by the time he got to room #125. He dropped his stuff on the floor, turned back the covers on Jim's bed and crashed. Just before sleep claimed him, three thoughts nagged at the detective's alcohol fogged brain, "Blair's girlfriend sure had a deep voice," and "What was Sandburg doing with Jim's key?" and finally, "Where the hell is Ellison?"

"Jesus," he muttered, finally succumbing to sleep, "Everybody got lucky tonight except for *me*."

*

"Blair."

Silence.

"Chief!" A strong shake.

"Mmm?" Grumble, rustle, grunt.

"Sandburg!" A none too gentle thump with the pillow.

"What? What?!" Blair sat up abruptly, wild-eyed and staring.

"We gave Brown my key."

"Yeah." Aggrieved grumble. Snort. Sandburg snatched the pillow away from Jim and collapsed back onto the bed, snuggling into the covers. "So what?"

"So *what* are we going to tell him tomorrow morning when he asks where I was?"

"James." An exasperated sigh. "You were a *spy* for godsakes. *Think* of something!"

"I wasn't a *spy*. I was a covert operative."

"Spy? Covert Operative? What-*ever*, man." Yawn. "I'm going back to sleep."

Silence.

"Shit."

*

**The Lazy K Ranch  
Dining Room  
Tuesday, August 18  
8:55 am  
**

The sun was shining. The birds were singing. The coffee was Jamaican Blue Mountain and the orange juice was freshly squeezed with just the tiniest bit of pulp. Polishing off the rest of his French Toast, complete with real maple syrup and fresh creamery butter, Brian Marion Rafe smiled. Life was good. Oh so very good.

"Thanks for kicking me out, *partner*. You couldn't have just gone back to *her* room could you?" Brown sat down and whapped him over the head with the menu. "Or given me the key to *her* room."

"Sorry, man. Couldn't be helped. We were, ah, just getting into it again when you showed up." Rafe smiled more broadly, remembering.

"Yeah, I'll bet," his partner grumped, signaling the waiter.

"So, where'd you end up?" Rafe asked. "The French Toast is excellent, by the way."

"Ellison's room."

"Jim's room? No luck with Marcia, oh Suave One?"

"Cut it out, *Marion*," Brown mock glared. "Anyway, there's always tomorrow."

Rafe paused for a moment while his partner ordered, skipping the French Toast in favor of the Belgian Waffles. "I thought you were gonna crash in Sandburg's room."

"I thought so too. But he had somebody with him. He pitched Jim's key at me and told me to go sleep there. Guess Jim got lucky too."

"Who with? That gorgeous, punk-rock-looking red-head he was chatting up a couple nights ago at the barbecue? And what was Sandburg doing with Ellison's key?"

"How the hell should *I* know, Rafe. It was 3 o'clock in the morning. I was drunk. Tired. I wanted to get some *sleep*. And I'd just been kicked out of my room by my so-called friend." Henry seemed thoughtful for a moment, "Come to think of it, though, why *did* Sandburg have Ellison's key?" Henry paused while filling his coffee cup from the tabletop carafe.

"Yeah, why *did* Blair have the key?" Rafe mused thoughtfully. "You know what Megan's always saying."

"Well, Blair's 'date' *did* have a deep voice," Henry chuckled.

"I still don't know, H. I guess I just can't see it," Rafe shook his head, trying to wrap his brain around the idea of Jim and Blair -- *together*. "I mean, Jim and Blair? Horizontal? Blair 'Babe-A-Week' Sandburg? Jim 'Snap Your Spine Like A Twig' Ellison?" He shook his head again, "I dunno..."

"Well, I have no trouble seeing it," his partner shrugged. "Especially given their antics on the plane and in the minivan." Brown poured a cup of coffee.

"I guess...," he mused. "I suppose...Could be." Could it?

"Morning guys," Megan, red hair shining in the sun, entered the dining room and sat down next to him. She was dressed, in characteristically eclectic, skin-tight leather riding clothes. Mouth dry, heart pounding, Rafe wondered how one earth he'd gotten so lucky.

"Hey, Megan," he smiled, probably rather foolishly.

"Hi Brian," she breathed his name, the richness of her voice auditory caress.

"A-hem," Henri rolled his eyes and cleared his throat loudly. "All you guys need are little blue birds carrying red ribbons fluttering around your heads. New love can be *so* nauseating."

"Right, H," Rafe retored, "I seem to recall seeing the same ridiculous expression on *your* face last night while you were dancing with Marcia."

"So," Megan said briskly, breaking the spell. "What are you guys talking about?"

"Well, Connor, since, as you *know*, Rafe kicked me out last night. I had to go sleep in Ellison's room."

"I thought you were going to crash in Sandy's suite," Megan chuckled, thumbing through the menu. "Where was Jim?"

"That's exactly what we were wondering," he said, "We think that he was in Sandburg's room. That maybe they're sleeping together."

"No?" Megan said facetiously. "Really?"

"Ellison's bed wasn't slept in and he never came back in the morning."

"Couple that with everything else, and I guess we've come to the conclusion that Ellison and Sandburg are, in fact, sleeping together."

"Well," Megan said brightly, "it's about *time* you two gents figured it out! I guess there's hope for you American detectives after all!"

*

Trying not to wince, Jim followed his partner into the dining room. Granted, turnabout *was* fair play, but he was *definitely* not looking forward to sitting in a hard chair at breakfast or a saddle aboard a galloping horse this afternoon. He had a whole new perspective on Blair's irritability during their ill-fated fishing trip.

"Uh oh," Blair said very quietly. Following his partner's gaze, Jim's stomach clenched and his palms began to sweat. Assembled at a corner table in the bright morning sunshine, were all five of his colleagues. Staring at them and smiling. Only Daryl was missing.

"Shit, man," Blair whispered urgently, "Something's up."

"Really, Einstein? You think?" All eyes were on the two of them and conversation at the table had stopped. Jim gathered his nerve and pushed Blair towards the table. "Might as well get it over with. Come on, Chief."

"So, Jim, Blair," Simon smiled broadly, as they took the two seats between Henry and Simon. "How'd you guys sleep last night?"

The entire table waited expectantly.

"Uh, fine?" Blair looked up from his menu uncertainly.

"How about you, Jim?" Henry asked, "Sleep well?"

More silence. "Just great!" he said quickly, grabbing the menu from Sandburg and gesturing frantically for a waiter.

"Really, Jimbo?" Megan asked, leaning forward.

"Yeah, Jim," Henry put an arm around his shoulders. "See, we're askingn because you weren't in your room last night."

"You get *lucky*, Ellison?" Simon purred.

He exchanged a desperate glance with his partner. 'Uh oh' didn't begin to cover it. Unfortunately, he could literally *see* the wheels turning in Blair's head as his eyes grew bright.

Sandburg smiled much too innocently. "Jim was in my room last night."

"Really?" Everyone at the table chorused.

Jim glared at his partner and muttered, "Way to go, Benedict Arnold."

"C'mon Jim," Blair muttered, "Put those 'Covert Ops' skills to work, man."

"Hey Jim, it's nothing to be ashamed of," his partner continued placidly. "No one will think less of you." What the hell was Sandburg *doing*?

Silently fuming at his cherubically smiling Guide, Jim thought fast. //Come on Ellison, you were in Covert Ops and Vice. You'd better think of something *good*.// The solution came in a blinding flash.

"Well," Jim tried to look sheepish. "I had a nightmare."

"You what?" Rafe looked astonished.

"You had a nightmare and ended up in Sandburg's room?" Brown said disbelievingly.

"Yeah," Jim said heavily, looking down and rubbing his finger through the condensation from his juice glass. "I dreamed that he really died -- and this time, *stayed* dead." //Maybe this could work?//

"Oh man..." Brown rocked back in his chair.

"Shit, that's harsh," Rafe looked distressed.

Even Simon's eyes teared up and Joel gave a surreptitious sniff. He felt sure they could all remember clearly Blair's pale body laid out in the morgue and Jim on his knees wailing with grief. The painful images were all too clear in his own mind.

"And I'll bet that you had to reassure him that you weren't really dead, hmmmm?"

"Uh, *yeah*! And so I figured that, since my suite had so much space -- " //Shut *up*, Sandburg. The beauty of a good lie is it's simplicity.//

" -- he might as well stay in your room in case he had another nightmare, right Sandy?"

"Er, exactly, Megan."

"I see."

After a long silence, filled with the occasional clink of silverware against plates, and earthenware cups against saucers, Henry spoke up, "You know something, Jim?"

"No," Jim ventured cautiously, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. Damn, but his ass hurt. And where the hell was that waiter? "What?"

"Your story would hold together better if you'd actually *slept* in your bed last night."

//Shit!//

"*And* if you hadn't been feeling each other up on the plane," he continued mercilessly, grinning widely.

Blair blanched paper white.

"Or the van," Joel noted, tapping his forefinger against his chin. "The Milk Dud Grab, Jim. Simply brilliant!"

"*And* Jim," Megan said thoughtfully, "if I hadn't seen you scurrying, half-dressed and covered in hickeys from Blair's suite at 5:45 yesterday morning, as I was on my way to the weight room." She chuckled. "You cheeky bugger!"

"*And* you two hadn't snuck off into the woods, holding hands the night of the meteor shower," Simon offered.

"Not to mention the gooey, sticky 'we're so in love' glances across the dinner table," Joel chuckled.

"And what about the footsie *under* the table!"

Jim's cheeks grew hot and beside him, Blair gaped. "You mean, you guys *knew*?" his partner gasped.

Joel laughed heartily, "C'mon guys! What kind of detectives would we be if we couldn't see what was going on?"

"When were you going to tell us?" Brown wanted to know.

Blair tried and failed to form a coherent sentence, "Uh. Uh."

"Sandburg speechless," Simon laughed, slapping Blair's back, "Alert the media!"

"We thought we were keeping it a secret," Jim protested weakly.

"A secret?" there was general laughter around the table. "Right, Jim, good one! When *Daryl* asks me, 'So, when did Jim and Blair start going out?' I'd say that the cat was out of the bag!" The entire table broke into applause.

He'd already determined it was impossible to die of embarrassment, but melting into the floor seemed to be a distinct possibility.

"So, Jimbo, Sandy," Connor smiled devilishly, "When's the wedding?"

Jim glanced once at his stunned partner then placed his head in his hands and groaned.

*

****

IotaTech Headquarters  
Lazy K Ranch, Suite #107  
6:49 pm  


Huddled over the table in the conference room, stressed out beyond reason, Ben and his friends reviewed preparations for tomorrow's sting operation yet again. After Jim's analysis of their plan's weaknesses, he'd forced the FBI agents to modify it a bit. They'd increased the security around the abandoned warehouse where they were to make the exchange, provided his partners with super-thin Kevlar vests, and made adjustments to the electronic surveillance equipment they were required to wear.

"So. Red and I will drive out there at 8:15 am to make the drop off."

"And exactly *where* are the Feebs gonna be at this point?"

"For the *tenth* time, Red, there will be agents stationed along the access road going into town, we'll be under surveillance from the air, and once we enter the town perimeter."

"Forgive me if I have so little trust in our illustrious federal government," his partner said snidely. "Especially when it comes to keeping our asses intact."

"Concern noted, believe me. Leslie and Rob, you guys will follow in a second car with Toomis and three other FBI agents. Red and I will meet with Charrington at the appointed time. We'll hand over the goods and we'll be on our way. Afterwards, the Feds will pick them up just outside of town."

"Honestly, Ben, I'm really worried about this," Leslie drawled softly, "This scheme has a lot of holes. The original plan was to make an electronic exchange. Then, it was changed so that we make the technology exchange via an intermediary. *Then*, somehow, Charrington -- an internationally wanted criminal -- just happens to want to meet us in person?" He shook his head slowly, "This just doesn't all add up."

"I know, Leslie. It all seems somehow *too* convenient," Rob agreed, "But there's nothing we can do about it now."

"My contact claims that Charrington wants to meet us in person because we pleased him with our first 'product' and that he wants to see a live demonstration," Red commented.

"He could be planning to make an appearance just to take the technology and kill us all, you know."

Red stopped fiddling with his Palm Pilot and snickered, "Always the positive thinker, eh Leslie?"

"Seriously, people," Leslie said, "I can't help but feel that we're in over our heads here. Shit! We're engineers, financial analysts -- *normal* people. What the hell do *we* know about international crime?"

For a long moment, Ben stared across the table and out the window, where the dying sun dipped behind the purpling mountains in a flash of red and gold. Tomorrow, it would all be over, one way or the other. His foolish excursion into the criminal justice system and possibly his life and the lives of his friends. As Ellison had said, there were *so* many things that could go wrong with this plan. So many ways it could end in disaster.

"Look guys," he said quietly, "I know that I brought us all to this point. I want to say that -- I'm really sorry. I should have been honest, up front with you all, but I panicked. I hope, though, that we can make it past this, both as friends and as business partners. No matter what happens tomorrow."

His friends were very quiet for a long moment.

"Ben," Rob rose and placed her hand on his shoulder, "I know that I've been pretty hard on you these past weeks. I was pissed. And you know me, when I'm pissed I don't bother hide it. Anyway, it's okay now, alright? We've been friends a *long* time and we've been through a lot together. We can make it through this."

"Yeah, Ben, Red. I was angry. We all were. But if all goes well, I think that we can get past this."

"Ben, man, I share as much blame here as you do. I was a shit; thinking with my wallet instead of my morals," Red said, in a hushed voice. "I'm sorry guys. I really am. But we've still got a great product, thanks to Rob and Leslie. I think we're gonna make it."

Gazing at the faces of his friends, who hadn't deserted him or abandoned the vision they'd all shared for IotaTech, for the first time in weeks, Ben allowed himself the luxury of hope.

*

**Lazy K Ranch  
Somewhere along the South Fork Trail  
1.5 miles south of Coopersville -- 'The Old Ghost Town'  
Wednesday, August 19  
8:22 am  
**

After the 'Panache' fiasco, Jim had requested a different horse. This time, the stable master gave him 'Spartacus', a huge sorrel who seemed to realize, unlike 'Panache' that he was not entirely anatomically correct. 'Spartacus' stepped placidly along the groomed trail beside Blair's horse, 'Chestnut' with nary a twitch. If his ass weren't so sore, the ride would have been a complete pleasure.

"Too bad it's the last day, huh Chief?" Jim squinted in the early morning sunshine slanting through the ponderosa pines shading the trail. The trail wound it's way through a small grassy canyon roughly in the direction of Coopersville.

"Yeah, this has been some great vacation, huh?" His lover stretched in the saddle, grinning from ear to ear.

"The *best*, Sandburg. Really," Jim smiled, Blair's grin was infectious. "Thanks."

"My pleasure, man. And see, you guys made *fun* of me for going all out on those raffle tickets!" Blair laughed, eyes sparkling.

"Well, Hairboy, we were wrong! Dead wrong!" Brown laughed. "We've all had a great time. Haven't we gang?"

"Thanks, Blair!" Everyone chorused in response.

"I am certainly glad that you won the raffle, Blair," Elena smiled, glancing fondly at Simon, "It couldn't have been won by a nicer man."

"Why thank you, Elena," Blair said gallantly, barely hiding a smirk.

*

A few miles down the dusty trail, while everyone was complaining about packing and the long flight ahead of them, Jim struck the listening pose Simon had seen so often. Head cocked to the side, Jim held up his hand, "Hang on a second you guys. I think I hear something."

"Are you getting 'vibes' now, Jim?" Megan asked eagerly.

Baffled, Brown asked, "Vibes? What the hell are you talking about, Connor?"

"I could have sworn I heard -- there it goes again. Sounds like -- gunfire?"

"Jim, none of us are hearing anything," Simon complained. //You'd think I'd be used to his Superman ears by now.//

"From which direction, Jim?" Blair asked intently, placing a hand on Jim's arm. Doing that 'Guide-Thing' again.

"Up ahead. About three to three and a half miles north-west of here."

Blair paled, exchanging a worried glance with Jim. Elena looked at him quizzically, "Simon?"

He shrugged. "What the hell is going on here, you two?"

Sandburg ignored him, "Do you think that it's from the ghost town?"

"Ghost town?" Elena interrupted. "You mean Coopersville? The abandoned mining town? What's going on there? What do you mean?"

"Could it be the Feds, Jim? Could you tell what kind of weapon?"

"How the hell do you hear *anything*?" Rafe wanted to know. "*I* don't here anything."

"Quiet, Brian. Jim's getting vibes!" Megan shushed. "Don't interrupt him!"

"Feds? What Feds? What are you guys talking about?" Simon demanded. It drove him *nuts* when the two of them got sucked into the Sandburg Zone, tuning out the rest of the universe.

Jim decisively urged his horse to a faster pace down the trail that would lead them up out of the arroyo, towards Coopersville. "Come on Blair, let's get on up there!"

"Ellison! Sandburg!" Simon took a deep breath and shouted. "Hold it right there you two. Neither of you are going anywhere until you tell me exactly what's going on."

The two of them exchanged worried glances and spoke at once.

"Uh, Simon. We're not supposed to say."

"We're wasting time here, Sir."

"Sandburg. Ellison." Simon threatened //The two of them and their damn *secrets*!// "One of you had better explain this right now!"

In his typical over-eager, round-about, wordy, confusing fashion -- that just screamed out for you to shout 'What happened at the end, Blair?!' -- Sandburg spilled the entire sordid tale. "They were pirating *what*?" Simon was stunned.

"Microsoft Business Suite. But you have to understand. It's not *them* that's pirating, Simon. Not exactly. They're just supplying the technology, it's this *other* international industrial espionage guy that's doing the pirating!" Sandburg said emphatically.

"You've *got* to be kidding me," Brown shook his head in disbelief. "Just about every PC sold these days comes with that software already installed. Hell, it's easier to buy a whole new computer than try to install the damn program. Believe me, I've tried."

"What?!" Elena exclaimed. "I give them a suit for their office and they start *bootlegging*?! I'm gonna *kill* that son of mine!"

"And you say they were originally selling it to some guy in Malaysia? We're not even near a *coast* for godsake." Simon tried to wrap his nonscientific brain around the whole thing.

"Welcome to the 90s, Simon," Blair lectured, "They are these itty bitty little things called 'electrons' that travel through phone wires. Not to mention that fact that DHL delivers internationally."

Simon leveled a glare at Sandburg who grinned unrepentantly.

"How the hell do you know so much about international shipping, Sandburg?"

"How do you think anthropologists get artifacts from Point 'A' to Point 'B', Simon?"

"Well, thank you, oh international trade guru. How'd you two find out about this? How'd you piece it all together anyway?"

"Uh, well, sir," Jim's expression was a peculiar mix of sheepish and impatient. "IotaTech's office is right next door to Blair's suite and well, the walls are pretty thin and well, we ended up asking them about it..." //Jesus! Sandburg is starting to rub off on Ellison!//

"And the Feds have set up this sting operation?"

"You mean those stiffs in my lobby last night were FBI agents?" Elena asked with annoyance.

"And what is all this about encryption, anyway?"

Ellison held up his hand suddenly. "I *definitely* hear gun fire now. And radio chatter. And -- " Jim paused frowning, "an engine of some sort? A *helicopter*, maybe?"

"Gun fire? Radio? Helicopter? Jim, I don't hear anything," Brown said with dismay.

Blair and Simon shushed him.

Connor looked thrilled. "More 'vibes', Jim?"

"Jim," Blair said reasonably, placing his hand on Jim's arm. "If it's really gunfire, we should try to call this in or something, right?"

"With what? A string and a tin can, Chief? We're out of cell-phone range. Besides, if the Feds did what they're supposed to, the authorities are already aware of it. This trail connects up with the Coopersville access road at a fork, about a mile up ahead." Jim put spurs to his horse and galloped down the trail. "C'mon! Let's ride!"

A heartbeat later, Sandburg raced after Ellison, shouting, "The Magnificent Eight rides again!" The kid was absolutely nuts.

"I'm not just going to kill Ben," Elena said tightly, clucking to her horse, "I'm going to turn him over my knee and tan his hide! *Then* I'll kill him!"

"Daryl! You stay behind! I don't want you anywhere near gunfire!"

"Dad, if Rob's in trouble, I'm going, too!" His son galloped after everyone else, dust cloud swirling in his wake.

"Damn kids!" Simon grumbled, galloping awkwardly down the trail after his son, Elena and his detectives, teeth rattling. "I'm not gonna have *any* fillings left after this damn trip!"

*

Blair galloped down the trail after Jim in the hail of gravel scattered by 'Spartacus' flying hooves. The sun beat down upon him, baking the stiffness from his muscles, warming his face and the wind of their passing whipped his hair from its pony tail to stream in the wind. Were he not so damn worried about his new friends, he'd be having the time of his life. On horseback, his limp was unimportant and his lungs didn't protest from overexertion.

After a few minutes, Jim, astride his larger horse, pulled away and outdistanced Blair. The thud of trail-muffled hoofbeats echoed back to him as he wound his way up the switchbacks towards the top of the arroyo.

Up ahead, the trail widened slightly and Megan drew abreast of him, wearing a wide brimmed hat and a confused expression. "Sandy? Where is Jim?"

"Further up the trail. His horse is faster."

"Just what the heck is going *on*, Blair?" Rafe reined in behind her. Brian, Elena and Daryl had finally caught up, though Simon was no where to be seen.

"We already *told* you! It's a sting operation!" Blair shouted breathlessly, guiding his horse along the trail left by Spartacus' churning hooves. "Take the right fork up ahead!"

The thundering wind in his ears grew louder and Blair gasped as an unmarked helicopter lifted ominously from the valley below. It circled them once and flew off up the trail and over the lip of the canyon above. His horse whinnied in fear.

"Where the hell did *that* come from," Brown demanded, staring up at the helicopter. "That's no FBI copter!"

"Holy *shit*! Jim was right! We've got to hurry!" Blair spurred his lathered horse faster.

"Don't worry, Sandy! We'll catch'em!"

Sounds of automatic weapons fire echoed through the canyon as the horses labored up the steep trail towards the plateau. Blair found himself desperately chanting, "Please! Let us be in time! Let us be in time!"

Moments later, the helicopter swept back over the trail, startling the horses and kicking up a huge dust cloud. Suddenly, two riders burst around the bend about 150 yards away galloping back towards them. Struggling to control his mount, Blair's heart stopped as a beloved figure leaped from his huge red horse to tackle the blonde, gun-toting thug astride a glossy black one.

"Oh my god!" Blair reined in Chestnut and stared in horror as Jim and the other man toppled from their horses and tumbled down the hillside.

*

****

Lazy K Ranch  
Santo Domingo Suite, #105  
4:45 pm  


"Oh god," Face down, Jim groaned into the towels spread on the bed, "My *toenails* hurt." Even after twenty minutes in the Jacuzzi tub, followed by one of Sandburg's aromatherapy miracle massages, every muscle in his body ached. Everywhere along his body, he could feel the imprints of numerous rocks and fists of varying sizes and the inevitable swelling of the bruises that followed.

"That's precisely what you get for leaping from a galloping horse, ala 'Zorro', wrestling with an international criminal armed with an Uzi and falling down a ravine," Blair admonished without a shred of sympathy. "What the *hell* were you *thinking*? Now sit up so I can tape your ribs. And bandage your knee. And wrap your ankle. Sheesh!" Blair threw up his hands.

He painfully struggled to sit up, sparing a glare for his hairy, ministering angel. "Exactly what do you *suggest* I should have done?"

"Gee, is this a trick question?" Blair asked sarcastically.

"Charrington was escaping. I caught him. End of story." Jim smiled, injuries momentarily forgotten, as the ends Blair's hair trailed over his shoulder, releasing a spicy, herbal scented cloud that went straight to his groin.

"End of story," his lover muttered, stretching the elastic bandage carefully around Jim's midsection, "Jim! You could have been shot! Or broken your neck! Or -- "

"But I *didn't*, Sandburg. I'm just fine. And so are Rob, and Red and Leslie. And Charrington and his goons are in custody."

"Jim," his partner sighed, exasperated, "You look like you've been through the *spin* cycle and then were put in the dryer to fluff-dry on high heat. And here you say you're 'fine'? You've sure got a warped definition of 'fine'."

"Ouch! Sandburg!" Jim gasped as his Guide's hand brushed against an abrasion as he gave the bandage a tug and fastened it tightly.

"Is there *any* part of you that *doesn't* hurt?" Blair said with exasperation.

He pretended to think for a moment, then smiled wickedly, pointing to his tented boxers. "Oh yeah. *This* doesn't hurt."

"I don't believe you, man. You're constantly going on and on about my excess hormones and I swear to god, you get pummeled by a gun-toting thug and yet you're 'Boner Man', here."

"You gotta problem with that, Sandburg?" Jim raised one eyebrow suggestively, leaning in for a kiss.

"Not usually, no," his lover grinned. "However, at the moment, you're too sore, I'm too tired, we still have to pack, we've got to get debriefed by the Feds *and* we've got a 90 minute drive to the airport for an 8:50 flight."

Jim sighed and shelved his hormones for the time being, wondering, not for the first time in the last twenty minutes, exactly *what* had possessed him to take a swan dive from a galloping horse and how the hell he was going to survive the plane ride home.

*

****

Lazy K Ranch  
Lobby  
5:54pm  


Simon plunked his bags down next to the counter and waited for the desk clerk to pull up his account. He sighed heavily at the total. In five days, he'd managed to rack up over $600 dollars in room fees, between calling Joan and the office and Daryl's late night Pay-Per-Vue habit. Glancing at his lanky son sprawled on the lobby couch, he decided to cut Ellison more slack. Daryl's brand of 'puppy dog eyes' was every bit as devastating as Sandburg's.

"So, Simon," Elena startled him as she came up behind him. His back tingled from the warmth of her hand. "I guess all good things come to an end?"

"They don't have to," Simon smiled hopefully. "I've got a conference in Phoenix in October. Phoenix's not all that far..."

"As a matter of fact, it's not." Elena agreed. She took the bill from his hand, carefully tearing it in half. Before he could protest, she smiled provacatively, "Thanksgiving's a rather slow time here, and I hear that the Pacific-Northwest is beautiful that time of year."

"It is indeed," Simon agreed. "No more beautiful than you, Desert Princess."

Elena raised an eyebrow and purred, "Blair *said* you were a charmer, Simon. I'm *so* glad he was right."

"Seriously, Elena. I really want to thank you for putting up with us this week."

"No trouble at all. You should thank Blair. He's the one that made it all happen. I just supplied the lodging and -- entertainment." She smiled slyly. "Besides, I should be thanking *you*. You're the ones who saved my son's life." Elena paused, then crumpled the torn bill in her hand.

"Well, got to get back to work!" She leaned up and kissed him lightly. "See you soon, Captain Banks."

"Oh *yes*, I'll definitely see you soon, Elena," Simon smiled after her, blissfully plotting his return trip. The smile faded suddenly when he spotted Special Agent Waters and Toomis headed his way.

"Captain Banks! I need a word with you!"

"Oh god," Simon moaned, "I thought I'd managed to ditch these guys."

*

"Unless you plan to pay for eight plane tickets and eight additional nights at this very fine establishment -- you're going to have to put your butts on a plane and interview my detectives back in Cascade." Simon growled at the FBI agents in the lobby.

"Captain Banks!" Special Agent Waters said aggressively, arms akimbo, "It is *imperative* that we get this taken care of as soon as possible."

Making their way to the registration desk, he and Blair gave the arguing men a wide berth.

"Hey look! There's H!" Sandburg bounced, "Let's ask him now!" Henri stood at the end of the counter, one arm around a sweetly pouting Marcia. Their serious expressions and Marcia's trembling lower lip were all signs of a tearful goodbye.

"Sandburg, I said stay out of it," Jim warned, handing their keys to the clerk. "It's none of your business." His nosy partner was hell-bent on outing Marcia to Henry.

"Maybe not, Jim, but *still*. Do you think he knows? Shouldn't we *tell* him?"

"Still *nothing*, Chief. Leave it alone. If he hasn't figured it out by now -- well, it's Henry's business, not yours." Jim's admonishment had as much effect as, 'Stay in the car, Chief'. Which is to say, none. As soon as Marcia hugged H a final goodbye, Sandburg was down at the end of the counter and in his face. Jim leaned against the counter to enjoy the show.

"H, my man! Looks like things worked out with Marcia, eh?"

Henri smiled winningly, appreciatively following Marcia's departure with his eyes, "Yeah, Hairboy. You could say so."

"So, I heard that Marcia is from Seattle. You gonna keep seeing her?"

"Yeah," Henry beamed, a slightly glazed look on his face. "She's something really special."

"Special. Yeah, you could say that."

"Mmmm hmmm," Henri agreed, smiling.

"So, H. About Marcia..." Blair began.

"Sanburg..." Jim's softly growled warning had no effect. Sandburg was probably too far away to hear him. As if that would make a difference anyway.

"Yeah? What about her?"

"Uh, there's no delicate way to ask this, man." Blair took a deep breath, "Did you realize that she's, uh. That she's --"

Henri raised an eyebrow, "That *she's* really a *he*, Hairboy?"

For the third time in a week, Sandburg was stunned speechless, meeting Jim's glance with dismay. "Uh *yeah*"

"It so happens, that Marcia is a transvestite."

"Ah!" Blair coughed in surprised, "And you don't *mind*?"

"Hey Sandburg, 'Anything That Moves'. You and Ellison oughta know, right?" Brown sauntered off towards the gate with a broad wink, leaving Blair standing, mouth agape.

"Watch it, Chief," Jim laughed, "You're gonna catch flies like that."

"Jim! I had *no* idea here, man! Like *zero* clue. Oh man. I am *so* embarrassed."

"Aren't you the person who is always saying, 'don't make assumptions'?" Jim taunted his companion mercilessly, "Hell, you're an *anthropologist* for godsakes! You should *know* better!"

"Yeah, well, color me stupid!" Blair shook his head, "Let me pry my foot out of my mouth long enough to take my own advice, 'k?"

Jim chuckled and pushed his dumbfounded mate towards the door.

*

Sitting on the lobby couch, waiting for his father to check them out, Daryl experienced a strong sense of 'deja vu'. What a trip! The meteors were cool. The cattle roping demonstration was excellent. As terrifying as the chase had been, it was pretty cool too. Still, the trip could have been *more* fun if Jim ratted him out.

"Hey there. This seat taken?"

Startled, Daryl looked up at Rob, who stood, hands on hips, smiling down at him.

"Uh, no! Not at all!" Daryl stood hastily, tongue-tied. "Hi, Rob!"

"Hi, Daryl," she said softly, sitting down on the sofa and patting the adjacent cushion. "Sit down. Please."

Daryl sat slowly and twisted his hands in his lap, intensely uncomfortable. "Rob. I just wanted to say again that, I'm very sorry I mislead you about my age," Daryl said, eyes downcast. "It was really selfish of me."

"Yeah, Daryl, it was," Rob agreed. "But, I forgive you. Plus, I *was* flattered. And, if you were just a bit older..." Her voice trailed off wistfully. "Well, anyway. I wanted to thank *you*."

"Me? For what?"

"For helping take my mind off my troubles, earlier this week. I had a great time, even if things did get screwy in the middle. And for riding to the rescue when the 'sting' operation went bad."

"Rob, that wasn't me!" Daryl protested, "That was my friends. *I* didn't *do* anything!"

"You were there, Daryl. Blair told me you refused to stay behind when you all heard gunfire."

"I couldn't hang out in the wings when a friend was trouble."

"Well, we -- I -- really appreciated it." Her warm, strong fingers closed around his. "Hey. You've got a plane to catch and I need to go yak with the feeb suits." Rob rose, still clasping his hand.

"Oh, Rob?" Daryl stood with her. "Don't worry. I just *know* everything is going to work out okay with the business."

"I sure hope so, Daryl."

"The question is, will you remember me when you're rich and famous?"

Rob leaned forward and her warm lips brushed against his for an instant. "Trust me, Daryl," she squeezed his hand gently, "I'll never forget you."

*

"What *is* it with you and Sandburg? No matter where you go, you attract trouble," Simon grumbled as they walked towards the dreaded minivan. "Remind me never to go on another vacation with you two."

"We attract trouble, Simon? I seem to recall flying down to Peru to find you and Daryl knee deep in drug runners." Jim noted dryly, smiling at his partner.

"Oh and let's not forget to mention the wonderful luck you have with High School reunions!" Blair chimed in.

"Well," Simon said, somewhat mollified, "I guess you guys have a point. Speaking of which, Sandburg, I suppose I oughta thank you for putting in a good word with Elena."

Blair smiled smugly, "Yeah, Simon. You oughta."

They stared at each other for a moment. "What, Sandburg?" Simon sounded exasperated.

"Well? Aren't you going to thank me?" Sandburg pressed.

"Okay, Sandburg." Simon opened the minivan's hatchback and lifted his bags inside. "Thanks."

"That's *it*?" Blair asked indignantly, hands on hips. "No hug?"

"Don't push your luck, kid," Simon growled, stalking around the van to unlock the door. "Hey! Connor! Rafe!" He banged on the window loudly. "No necking in the minivan, you two! Jeez! I *am* a den mother."

Jim ruffled his lover's hair and laughed.

*

****

Albuquerque International Airport  
Albuquerque, New Mexico  
8:25 pm  


Jim walked slowly through the terminal, every joint and muscle in his body screaming protest. What didn't ache, stung. What didn't sting, throbbed. What didn't throb, had seized up and become immobile. He couldn't take any pain meds and dialing it down hadn't done a damn bit of good. How the *hell* was he going to be able to move after sitting for 5 hours in a tiny airplane seat? Fortunately, Blair had snagged a luggage cart to tote their belongings. Sandburg pushed the cart along at his side, talking a mile a minute. He hadn't stopped talking about the trip since they'd left the ranch, carrying both sides of the conversation effortlessly. It was fine by Jim, since the pain made him irritable and more taciturn than usual.

"Can you be*lieve* it Jim? Elena invited us back any time we want!"

"Yeah, Chief, that's great."

"She'll give us a discount on the room and *everything*!"

"Uh huh."

"It's not surprising though, if you think about it," his Guide mused thoughtfully, "We *did* save her son!"

"True."

"And she and Simon really *did* hit it off." Blair paused for breath, "*Man* did they hit it off! Talk about electricity! Sparks! The works!"

"Uh huh." Jim stared at his partner with disbelief. Sandburg was practically *skipping* through the airport.

"Did you know that Daryl caught the two of them *necking* in the alcove just off the gardens? Just like a couple of teenagers!"

"Really." Now that *was* a surprise.

"And can you *believe* that Joel and Maria are flying back to Cascade on her private jet?" Blair rocked back on his heels, "Way to go Joel! Here, he was all nervous about getting back into the dating scene and what happens? Wham! Next thing you know, he's got a girlfriend who's an international celebrity. Yowza!"

"Sandburg, just how much coffee have you had today?"

"Me? One cup."

Jim stared suspiciously at his lover.

"Really. Only *one* cup, Jim. I swear."

//Yeah, right. One cup the size of Alaska. // "Tell me another story, Chief."

They made it to the empty check-in counter several minutes after everyone else. Jim handed their tickets and identification to the agent, waiting while she assigned seats, printed their boarding cards and processed the obligatory ream of paper that allowed him to transport his firearm.

"Anyway, I think we should go back, maybe in April. I hear that the desert wild flowers are *beautiful* that time of the year."

"Sure, Chief. Sounds great."

The got their tickets and joined Simon, Daryl, and the rest of the crew in the seating area.

"Well!" Blair said enthusiastically, clapping his hands together. "Another great vacation! Another chapter in the life of Major Crimes closed. Bad guys defeated, good triumphs over evil, and now we can all ride off into the proverbial sunset, eh guys?" Used to Blair's enthusiasm, everyone laughed as he mimed galloping on a horse towards and imaginary sunset.

"Sunset? Sandburg," Simon said incredulously, "It's *dark* outside. Besides, I wouldn't ride off into any sunset with you."

"C'mon Simon, where's your imagination? Just think -- a galloping steed, wind in our hair -- or *my* hair anyway," Blair reached out to put his arm around Simon.

Predictably, Simon shrugged the arm away. "I am not your 'pal' Sandburg."

"Hey! I got you together with Elena! I invited you on this trip! I do most of Jim's paperwork." His lover ticked off each point on his fingers. "*You*, Captain Simon Banks, should be nicer to me."

"Yeah, Captain. Let up on Hairboy!"

Simon considered for a moment. "Sandburg, Jim is at least getting a second date out of the deal. All I get is from you is grief."

"What, Simon? You want a slice now, too?"

"Whoa! Back off Captain," Jim said quickly, smiling, "This one's mine! Get your own."

"Ellison!" Simon glared. "Give. Me. A. Break. The pony-tail's okay, but I like'em taller, less scrawy, a lot *less* hairy, and a helluva lot more *female*!"

"Hey! I am *not* scrawny!" Blair protested. "I'm -- I'm *lithe*!"

"Lithe?!" Simon laughed, astonished. "Gimmie a break with the SAT words, Sandburg. You're *scrawny*!" He jabbed his unlit cigar at Blair, "Scrawy, with knobby knees and little stick legs." Simon glowered down at Blair, literally towering over him.

Chest-high and bristling with feigned indignation, Blair poked at Simon's stomach with his index finger. "Better than a beer gut and lungs like charcoal briquettes from smoking illegal Cuban death-sticks!" That said, he wisely grabbed his bags and sprinted for the gate.

"Sandburg!" Simon bellowed. "Ellison, when I catch that partner of yours..."

Jim shrugged and smiled broadly, "Better start running, sir. Even with a limp, Sandburg's still pretty damn quick on his feet."

Amazing. In a few short months, he'd lost, then regained his Guide. Fallen in love. Surrendered to the certainty of his feelings. Rewired his sexuality and come out to his friends and coworkers. The sky hadn't fallen, his life hadn't gone up in flames, his career hadn't imploded and his two closest friends were still indulging in their favorite past time of verbal tag.

Yes, all was right with his world.

*

****

852 Prospect, #307  
The Loft  
6 months later  


For some reason, he'd expected the whole effect to wear off. Expected their lives to become pedestrian, the sex to get stale and unimaginative. Expected the intense flare of love to burn itself into embers and then ash. Expected them to drift apart or for the weight of society's expectations to shred their partnership with recriminations and disappointments. Unlike ever relationship before, it hadn't happened that way.

Instead, Sandburg inspired him. Whipped cream, silk ties, the flatbed of his truck bundled up in sleeping bags and blankets under a brilliant alpine night sky. Fishing, camping, lazy Sunday afternoons spent making love in front of a blazing fire. Working cases, dodging bullets, arguing over sports, politics, music and household chores. All of it. And, instead of dissolving, their partnership had become stronger, deeper and more rich. Like the rock candy he'd once made in high school chemistry class: mix enough sugar with water, and some new structure -- something solid and pure would precipitate out.

Enjoying a beer before dinner, with Sandburg -- victim of yet another academic all-nighter -- dozing in his arms, Jim reflected that a more unlikely love match could scarcely be found. Himself, an aging, uptight, reticent cop with heightened senses. Blair, his youthful, frenetic and frighteningly intelligent urban Shaman. Somehow, it all worked together flawlessly, like flint on steel rather than oil and water. He and Blair each compromised a bit and life's rough, jagged edges were smoothed away.

Blair sighed and turned in his arms, undisturbed by the drone of the evening news, looking far cuter than should be possible for a heavy, snoring lump bristling with razor stubble. Jim smiled and kissed the top of his head.

"And now, for our technology news...MicroSoft announced today that it has purchased IotaTech, a small New Mexico-based Internet company, for $28 million."

Blair sat up abruptly, whacking Jim's forehead and sloshing beer in his face. "No way!"

"Dammit Sandburg!" Jim rubbed his head and wiped spilled beer from his chin. What a mood killer.

"Are you listening to this?!" Blair demanded.

"I was *trying* to!"

Blair leaned towards the TV shushing him.

The TV announcer continued, "IotaTech was in the news earlier this year for helping federal agents break up an international software piracy ring. With their assistance, federal and international authorities were able to capture Canton Winston Charrington, a man wanted internationally for securities fraud and industrial espionage."

"Willya look at that?" Dismayed, Blair gestured towards the screen, "Who says crime doesn't pay?"

"Said former IotaTech CEO and newly minted Internet millionaire, Benjamin Mitchell, 'We here at IotaTech are understandably excited about this development. We knew we had a solid product and are gratified that a forward-looking company like MicroSoft has recognized its significance.' Industry analysts speculate that MicroSoft was primarily motivated by the desire to acquire IotaTech's encryption technology for its vast product line, including the popular 'Business Suite'."

During the commercial break, Blair restlessly paced the living room, obviously upset. "And here I thought *I* was a good bullshit artist. Commit a crime. Pass 'Go'. Collect $28 million. Sheesh."

Jim stretched out on the couch somewhat surprised, "I figured you'd be happy for Rob and her friends, Chief. They all could've gotten jail time, but the D.A. and the Feds were willing to cut a deal."

"Well, I *am* happy that Rob and her friends aren't going to jail. I'm sure *Daryl's* really happy they didn't go to jail. It's just that --" He shook his head, seeming distressed, "Nah. Never mind."

"It's just what, Chief?" Jim pressed, rather puzzled. A reticent Blair Sandburg was nothing if not out of character.

"It's nothing."

"It is *too* something. So spill it, Chief. After all your 'talk about your feelings, Jim' speeches, you're not about to squeak out of this one."

"Okay," Blair said with resignation, sitting down on the coffee table and putting his face in his hands, "But this will sound really, I don't know, *petty*, maybe." One embarrassed blue eye peeked out from between his fingers.

"Sandburg..." Jim warned, sitting up and leaning against the arm of the couch.

"Okay, here goes." A deep breath. "I'm jealous," his partner mumbled to the floor.

"Jealous?" That was probably the *last* thing Jim expected to hear. "Of what?"

"Jealous that a bunch of people my age just made $28 million dollars," Blair muttered.

"You're kidding, right?" Jim was frankly astonished. Blair had never seemed to care much about money. As long as he could fix his car, buy the necessities -- flannel shirts, jeans and rare books -- he didn't seem to care.

"No, I am not kidding," he said quietly. "Man, I *love* anthropology, but sometimes..."

Intuition flashed. "Sometimes, you wish it paid better, is that it, Chief?"

"Yeah. Right. Exactly."

"Well, Sandburg, police work doesn't pay much, either. Nor did the Army. So I understand what you mean," Jim said, running fingers through his remaining hair. He'd seen too many instances where stressed, cash-poor cops succumbed to the temptation of bribes and allure of 'unattended' drug money. "You know, though," he said thoughtfully, "if you and I were to, say, pool our resources, things could be easier for both of us."

Blair looked up, surprised, "Pool? You mean, as in 'joint finances' and stuff?"

"Yeah, as in joint finances," Jim agreed. "And powers of attorney. And shared investments. And co-owned property. That sort of thing."

Blair stared at him a long time, quicksilver emotions chasing themselves across his expressive face, "James J. Ellison. Are you asking me to *marry* you?"

Jim thought for a moment. Marriage? Not legally possible, at the moment. But, was that what he really had in mind? He'd promised Blair forever under a starlight summer sky. Did he really mean it? Could the story really turn out differently this time? Could he really have a happily ever after? "Yeah, Sandburg. I guess I am."

A brilliant smile split his partner's face, "Really and truly?"

"Really and truly." Blair's smile was infectious.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!" In an eyeblink, Jim found himself flat on his back, pinned to the sofa and kissed within an inch of his life. "Yes, I'll marry you!"

"Hey," Blair said brightly, when they broke for air, "you know, if we're ever short for cash, I could always publish my dissertation as a book."

"Sandburg..." Jim threatened darkly. But it was difficult sound convincing with 153 pounds of euphoric Guide sitting on his chest.

"It'd be a best-seller for sure!" Blair mused, sitting back on his heels. "Or, hey, I could write a screenplay, sell the movie rights to, say, John Woo. Maybe get somebody like Bruce Willis to play you? Hair line is about right. Who could play me? Brad Pitt? Nah, too skinny."

"And too blonde. And Bruce Willis is too short." Jim heaved a long suffering sigh, "Blair Sandburg. You know, you have got to be the strangest man I've ever known."

"Yeah, but it's hopeless!" Blair poked his ribs, laughing, "You love it man! You *know* you love it!"

Looking up at his bright-eyed partner, co-author and co-star of this most recent, crazy chapter of his life, Jim Ellison realized that it was indeed all very hopeless, very miraculous and very wonderful.

"Yes Blair, I do *indeed* love it," he smiled. "And most of all, I love you."

**Author's Note:**

> A light-hearted action/adventure romp.
> 
> This story was written for saraid, who purchased it during the second 'The Sentinel' Slash Auction. Thanks to my betas: Ashtareth, Wolfling, and Virg.


End file.
